The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed to me,—nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew,—that he was thrown overboard. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Mischief bubbled up in her. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties.
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