"Yesterday," assented the minister; and his voice had a tender, almost
compassionate tone, as if he were speaking to a child.

"And a fine day it were!" said Captain January. "Wind steady, sou'west
by sou'. Fog in the mornin', and Bob Peet run the _Huntress_ aground
on the bank. I never liked fog, Minister! 'Give me a gale,' I'd say,
'or anythin' short of a cyclone,' I'd say, 'but don't give me fog!'
and see now, how it's come about! But it lifted, soon as the harm
were done. It lifted, and as fine a day as ever you see."

The minister looked at him in some alarm, but the old man's keen blue
eyes were clear and intelligent, and met his gaze openly.

"You're thinkin' I'm crazy, minister, or maybe drunk," he said,
quietly; "but I ain't neither one. I'm on'y takin' it by and large.
When a man has been fifteen year on a desert island, ye see, he learns
to take things by and large. But I never see good come of a fog yet.
Amen! so be it! And so Cap'n Nazro brought the lady to your house,
Minister?"

"Captain Nazro came with her," said the minister, "and also her
husband, Mr. Morton, and Robert Peet, the pilot. Mrs. Morton had seen
little Star in Peet's boat, and was greatly and painfully struck by
the child's likeness to a beloved sister of hers, who had, it was
supposed, perished at sea, with her husband and infant child, some
ten years ago."

"Ten year ago," repeated Captain January, passing his hand across
his weather-beaten face, which looked older, somehow, than it was
wont to do. "Ten year ago this September. 'He holdeth the waters in