It was astonishing with what celerity Donald had seemed to merge the sailor-boy in the farm-hand, and now in turn the farm-hand in the valet. He brushed away at Ted's clothes as vigorously as though that had been his calling from his youth up, and stowed away his belongings in the boxes that Harry Allyn had sent down from Oxford with an economy of space that was truly amazing. And now at last there was no more to be done, and Mrs. Hartley bade her boys God-speed with lips that from trembling could hardly frame the blessing, and on which face--Ted's or Donald's--loving gratitude found deeper expression it would have been difficult to have told. The old keeper pressed Ted's hands, and actually said something about feeling he had been a little hard on him at first; and then turning to Donald, made him promise to count Nuneham as his home ever afterward, and run down for a Sunday between voyages whenever he could manage it; and the words were about the most precious that had ever fallen on Donald's ears.