He knew that she must have watched the _Seamew_
skim by, making for the channel into the cove; for he had written
her when to expect him. But she would say nothing about it unless he
forced the gates of her silence by some direct question which
demanded more than a "yes" or a "no."
Lucretia folded him in her arms, however, and patted his broad
shoulder with little love pats as he put his arms about her. Her
kiss for him was as warm on his lips as a girl's. They understood
each other pretty well, these two; for Tunis had caught something of
her muteness, living so long alone with her.
He went to wash and change his shirt. Then he sat down in one of the
huge porch chairs and rocked quietly, waiting for supper. He could
see into the kitchen, which was the family dining room as well, and
when he saw his Aunt Lucretia take the coffee-pot from the stove and
put it on the square Dutch tile by her own place, Tunis knew it was
the only call to supper there would be.
He rose and went in, taking his place at the head of the table. His
aunt's head was bowed and her lips moved soundlessly. He respected
her whispered grace and always felt that he could add nothing to it
in thankfulness or reverence if he uttered an orison himself.
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