He shook his head and watched the yawl, her propeller roiling water at her stern, slip into the thorofare without a ribbon of canvas set—a vessel liberated from the tyrannical whims of the wind.

“I would have thought your father would have installed one of those noisy things. Fancies himself a man of progress, doesn’t he?”

More than fancied himself, Nathaniel replied; he believed in progress as a creed second only to his Congregational faith, except when it came to Double Eagle. There, he was as sentimental and tradition-bound as all those vanishing sons of sail who thought that putting means of mechanical propulsion into a sloop, yawl, schooner, or ketch was akin to installing a craps table in a church. I’ll not have any damned hunk of iron in her, never, Father had said just this month, when the manager of Potter’s boatyard tried to sell him a kerosene engine. Do not ever make such a suggestion to me again, sir.

“And what am I to do now?” asked Mrs. Williams, vexed, indignant. “Sit here and wait for this wind of yours?”

“It’s not mine, but you will have to wait for it. Not for long. Southwesterlies spring up in the middle of the morning, usually.” He underscored the forecast with an optimistic smile, and then, because it seemed the grown-up thing to do, offered her a cup of coffee while she waited.

“I’ll take tea, if you have it. Coffee is bad for the nerves. Shouldn’t be drinking it at your age, Nathaniel. Your hands will be shaking like an old man’s by the time you’re twenty.”

Despite the warning, he poured himself a cup after he went below to put the teakettle on. Eliot and Drew were dressed, but lounging in their bunks, Eliot tuning his guitar, Drew reading a magazine, while Trajan lapped a saucer of condensed milk. Nathaniel told them to be sociable, go above and greet their guest; and when they were done being sociable, they could help him get ready to make sail. They were to ferry Mrs. Williams to Camden before going on the picnic.

“We’ll need a bigger boat to ferry her,” Eliot quipped, and Nathaniel clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Here you are, a mug up, like the Gloucester fishermen say.”

“ ‘As,’ Nathaniel,” Gertrude Williams corrected, taking the cup. “What are they teaching for grammar at Andover these days? ‘As’ the Gloucester fishermen say. Sit down, the three of you. Sit, sit”—motioning with her chin. “Might as well have my word with you while we attend on this wind. My nephew has told me about your situation. Is it true?”

Eliot and Nathaniel looked at each other, Drew at them both, and they nodded almost in unison.