This they all do, leaving the daughter watching the father. To whom, in their absence, Bob Gliddery presents himself.

“His gills looks rum; don’t they?” says Bob, after inspecting the patient.

Pleasant faintly nods.

“His gills’ll look rummer when he wakes; won’t they?” says Bob.

Pleasant hopes not. Why?

“When he finds himself here, you know,” Bob explains. “Cause Miss Abbey forbid him the house and ordered him out of it. But what you may call the Fates ordered him into it again. Which is rumness; ain’t it?”

“He wouldn’t have come here of his own accord,” returns poor Pleasant, with an effort at a little pride.

“No,” retorts Bob. “Nor he wouldn’t have been let in, if he had.”