"SHAVINGS"

by Joseph C. Lincoln

CHAPTER I

Mr. Gabriel Bearse was happy. The prominence given to thisstatement is not meant to imply that Gabriel was, as a generalrule, unhappy. Quite the contrary; Mr. Bearse's disposition was acheerful one and the cares of this world had not rounded his plumpshoulders. But Captain Sam Hunniwell had once said, and Orhampublic opinion agreed with him, that Gabe Bearse was never happyunless he was talking. Now here was Gabriel, not talking, butwalking briskly along the Orham main road, and yet so distinctlyhappy that the happiness showed in his gait, his manner and in theexcited glitter of his watery eye. Truly an astonishing conditionof things and tending, one would say, to prove that Captain Sam'sdidactic remark, so long locally accepted and quoted as gospeltruth, had a flaw in its wisdom somewhere. 

And yet the flaw was but a small one and the explanation simple. Gabriel was not talking at that moment, it is true, but he wasexpecting to talk very soon, to talk a great deal. He had justcome into possession of an item of news which would furnish hisvocal machine gun with ammunition sufficient for wordy volley aftervolley. Gabriel was joyfully contemplating peppering all Orhamwith that bit of gossip. No wonder he was happy; no wonder hehurried along the main road like a battery galloping eagerly intoaction. 

He was on his way to the post office, always the gossip-sharpshooters' first line trench, when, turning the corner whereNickerson's Lane enters the main road, he saw something whichcaused him to pause, alter his battle-mad walk to a slower one, then to a saunter, and finally to a halt altogether. Thissomething was a toy windmill fastened to a white picket fence andclattering cheerfully as its arms spun in the brisk, pleasantsummer breeze. 

The little windmill was one of a dozen, all fastened to the toprail of that fence and all whirling. Behind the fence, on posts, were other and larger windmills; behind these, others larger still. Interspersed among the mills were little wooden sailors swingingpaddles; weather vanes in the shapes of wooden whales, swordfish, ducks, crows, seagulls; circles of little wooden profile sailboats, made to chase each other 'round and 'round a central post. All ofthese were painted in gay colors, or in black and white, and allwere in motion. The mills spun, the boats sailed 'round and'round, the sailors did vigorous Indian club exercises with theirpaddles. The grass in the little yard and the tall hollyhocks inthe beds at its sides swayed and bowed and nodded. Beyond, seenover the edge of the bluff and stretching to the horizon, the blueand white waves leaped and danced and sparkled. As a picture ofmovement and color and joyful bustle the scene was inspiring;children, viewing it for the first time, almost invariably dancedand waved their arms in sympathy. Summer visitors, loitering idlyby, suddenly became fired with the desire to set about doingsomething, something energetic. 

Gabriel Bearse was not a summer visitor, but a "native, " that is, an all-the-year-round resident of Orham, and, as his fellow nativeswould have cheerfully testified, it took much more than windmillsto arouse HIS energy. He had not halted to look at the mills. Hehad stopped because the sight of them recalled to his mind the factthat the maker of these mills was a friend of one of the men mostconcerned in his brand new news item. It was possible, barelypossible, that here was an opportunity to learn just a little more, to obtain an additional clip of cartridges before opening fire onthe crowd at the post office. Certainly it might be worth trying, particularly as the afternoon mail would not be ready for anotherhour, even if the train was on time. 

At the rear of the little yard, and situated perhaps fifty feetfrom the edge of the high sand bluff leading down precipitously tothe beach, was a shingled building, whitewashed, and with a door, painted green, and four windows on the side toward the road. Aclamshell walk led from the gate to the doors. Over the door was asign, very neatly lettered, as follows: "J. EDGAR W. WINSLOW. MILLS FOR SALE. " In the lot next to that, where the little shopstood, was a small, old-fashioned story-and-a-half Cape Cod house, painted a speckless white, with vivid green blinds. The blindswere shut now, for the house was unoccupied. House and shop andboth yards were neat and clean as a New England kitchen. 

Gabriel Bearse, after a moment's reflection, opened the gate in thepicket fence and walked along the clamshell walk to the shop door. Opening the door, he entered, a bell attached to the top of thedoor jingling as he did so. The room which Mr. Bearse entered wascrowded from floor to ceiling, save for a narrow passage, with hit-or-miss stacks of the wooden toys evidently finished and ready forshipment. Threading his way between the heaps of sailors, mills, vanes and boats, Gabriel came to a door evidently leading toanother room. There was a sign tacked to this door, which read, "PRIVATE, " but Mr. Bearse did not let that trouble him. He pushedthe door open. 

The second room was evidently the work-shop. There were a circularsaw and a turning lathe, with the needful belts, and a smallelectric motor to furnish power. Also there were piles of lumber, shelves of paint pots and brushes, many shavings and much sawdust. And, standing beside a dilapidated chair from which he hadevidently risen at the sound of the door bell, with a drippingpaint brush in one hand and a wooden sailor in the other, there wasa man. When he saw who his visitor was he sat down again. 

He was a tall man and, as the chair he sat in was a low one and theheels of his large shoes were hooked over its lower rounds, hisknees and shoulders were close together when he bent over his work. He was a thin man and his trousers hung about his ankles like aloose sail on a yard. His hair was thick and plentiful, a brownsprinkled with gray at the temples. His face was smooth-shaven, with wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and mouth. He worespectacles perched at the very end of his nose, and looked downover rather than through them as he dipped the brush in the can ofpaint beside him on the floor. 

"Hello, Shavin's, " hailed Mr. Bearse, blithely. 

The tall man applied the brush to the nude pine legs of the woodensailor. One side of those legs were modestly covered forthwith bya pair of sky-blue breeches. The artist regarded the breechesdreamily. Then he said:

"Hello, Gab. "

His voice was a drawl, very deliberate, very quiet, rather soft andpleasant. But Mr. Bearse was not pleased. 

"Don't call me that, " he snapped. 

The brush was again dipped in the paint pot and the rear elevationof the pine sailor became sky-blue like the other side of him. Then the tall man asked:

"Call you what?"

"Gab. That's a divil of a name to call anybody. Last time I wasin here Cap'n Sam Hunniwell heard you call me that and I cal'latedhe'd die laughin'. Seemed to cal'late there was somethin'specially dum funny about it. I don't call it funny. Say, speakin' of Cap'n Sam, have you heard the news about him?"

He asked the question eagerly, because it was a part of what hecame there to ask. His eagerness was not contagious. The man onthe chair put down the blue brush, took up a fresh one, dipped itin another paint pot and proceeded to garb another section of hissailor in a spotless white shirt. Mr. Bearse grew impatient. 

"Have you heard the news about Cap'n Sam?" he repeated. "Say, Shavin's, have you?"

The painting went serenely on, but the painter answered. 

"Well, Gab, " he drawled, "I--"

"Don't call me Gab, I tell you. 'Tain't my name. "

"Sho! Ain't it?"

"You know well enough 'tain't. My name's Gabriel. Call me that--or Gabe. I don't like to be called out of my name. But say, Shavin's--"

"Well, Gab, say it. "

"Look here, Jed Winslow, do you hear me?"

"Yes, hear you fust rate, Gabe--now. "

Mr. Bearse's understanding was not easily penetrated; a hintusually glanced from it like a piece of soap from a slanting cellardoor, but this time the speaker's tone and the emphasis on the"now" made a slight dent. Gabriel's eyes opened. 

"Huh?" he grunted in astonishment, as if the possibility had neveruntil that moment occured to him. "Why, say, Jed, don't you liketo be called 'Shavin's'?"

No answer. A blue collar was added to the white shirt of thesailor. 

"Don't you, Jed?" repeated Gabe. 

Mr. Winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his eyes turnedmomentarily in the direction of his caller. 

"Gabe, " he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller that wasborn stone deef and the Doxology?"

"Eh? What-- No, I never heard it. "

The eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and Mr. Winslow choseanother brush. 

"Neither did he, " he observed, and began to whistle what soundedlike a dirge. 

Mr. Bearse stared at him for at least a minute. Then he shook hishead. 

"Well, by Judas!" he exclaimed. "I--I--I snum if I don't think youBE crazy, same as some folks say you are! What in the nation has--has your name got to do with a deef man and the Doxology?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, nothin'. "

"Then what did you bust loose and tell me about 'em for? Theywan't any of MY business, was they?"

"No-o. That's why I spoke of 'em. "

"What? You spoke of 'em 'cause they wan't any of my business?"

"Ye-es . . . I thought maybe--" He paused, turned the sailor overin his hand, whistled a few more bars of the dirge and thenfinished his sentence. "I thought maybe you might like to askquestions about 'em, " he concluded. 

Mr. Bearse stared suspiciously at his companion, swallowed severaltimes and, between swallows, started to speak, but each time gaveit up. Mr. Winslow appeared quite oblivious of the stare. Hisbrushes gave the wooden sailor black hair, eyes and brows, and anengaging crimson smile. When Gabriel did speak it was notconcerning names. 

"Say, Jed, " he cried, "HAVE you heard about Cap'n Sam Hunniwell?'Bout his bein' put on the Exemption Board?"

His companion went on whistling, but he nodded. 

"Um-hm, " grunted Gabe, grudgingly. "I presumed likely you wouldhear; he told you himself, I cal'late. Seth Baker said he see himcome in here night afore last and I suppose that's when he toldyou. Didn't say nothin' else, did he?" he added, eagerly. 

Again Mr. Winslow nodded. 

"Did he? Did he? What else did he say?"

The tall man seemed to consider. 

"Well, " he drawled, at length, "seems to me I remember him sayin'--sayin'--"

"Yes? Yes? What did he say?"

"Well--er--seems to me he said good night just afore he went home. "

The disappointed Gabriel lost patience. "Oh, you DIVILISH foolhead!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "Look here, Jed Winslow, talksense for a minute, if you can, won't you? I've just heardsomethin' that's goin' to make a big row in this town and it's gotto do with Cap'n Sam's bein' app'inted on that Gov'ment ExemptionBoard for drafted folks. If you'd heard Phineas Babbitt goin' onthe way I done, I guess likely you'd have been interested. "

It was plain that, for the first time since his caller intrudedupon his privacy, the maker of mills and sailors WAS interested. He did not put down his brush, but he turned his head to look andlisten. Bearse, pleased with this symptom of attention, went on. 

"I was just into Phineas' store, " he said, "and he was there, so Ihad a chance to talk with him. He's been up to Boston and nevergot back till this afternoon, so I cal'lated maybe he hadn't heardabout Cap'n Sam's app'intment. And I knew, too, how he does hatethe Cap'n; ain't had nothin' but cuss words and such names for himever since Sam done him out of gettin' the postmaster's job. Pretty mean trick, some folks call it, but--"

Mr. Winslow interrupted; his drawl was a trifle less evident. 

"Congressman Taylor asked Sam for the truth regardin' Phineas and acertain matter, " he said. "Sam told the truth, that's all. "

"Well, maybe that's so, but does tellin' the truth about folks make'em love you? I don't know as it does. "

Winslow appeared to meditate. 

"No-o, " he observed, thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you do. "

"No, I . . . Eh? What do you mean by that? Look here, JedWinslow, if--"

Jed held up a big hand. "There, there, Gabe, " he suggested, mildly. "Let's hear about Sam and Phin Babbitt. What was Phineasgoin' on about when you was in his store?"

Mr. Bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to tell thestory. 

"Why, " he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'Twas all on account ofLeander. Leander's been drafted. You know that, of course?"

Jed nodded. Leander Babbitt was the son of Phineas Babbitt, Orham's dealer in hardware and lumber and a leading political boss. Between Babbitt, Senior, and Captain Sam Hunniwell, the latterPresident of the Orham National Bank and also a vigorouspolitician, the dislike had always been strong. Since the affairof the postmastership it had become, on Babbitt's part, an intensehatred. During the week just past young Babbitt's name had beendrawn as one of Orham's quota for the new National Army. Thevillage was still talking of the draft when the news came thatCaptain Hunniwell had been selected as a member of the ExemptionBoard for the district, the Board which was to hold its sessions atOstable and listen to the pleas of those desiring to be excusedfrom service. Not all of Orham knew this as yet. Jed Winslow hadheard it, from Captain Sam himself. Gabe Bearse had heard itbecause he made it his business to hear everything, whether itconcerned him or not--preferably not. 

The war had come to Orham with the unbelievable unreality withwhich it had come to the great mass of the country. Ever since thenews of the descent of von Kluck's hordes upon devoted Belgium, inthe fall of 1914, the death grapple in Europe had, of course, beenthe principal topic of discussion at the post office and around thewhist tables at the Setuckit Club, where ancient and retiredmariners met and pounded their own and each other's knees whilethey expressed sulphurous opinions concerning the attitude of thePresident and Congress. These opinions were, as a usual thing, guided by the fact of their holders' allegiance to one or the otherof the great political parties. Captain Sam Hunniwell, a lifelongand ardent Republican, with a temper as peppery as the chile concarne upon which, when commander of a steam freighter trading withMexico, he had feasted so often--Captain Sam would have hoisted theStars and Stripes to the masthead the day the Lusitania sank andput to sea in a dory, if need be, and armed only with a shotgun, toavenge that outrage. To hear Captain Sam orate concerning theneglect of duty of which he considered the United States governmentguilty was an experience, interesting or shocking, according to thedrift of one's political or religious creed. 

Phineas Babbitt, on the contrary, had at first upheld the policy ofstrict neutrality. "What business is it of ours if them furrinerstake to slaughterin' themselves?" he wanted to know. He hotlydeclared the Lusitania victims plaguey fools who knew what theywere riskin' when they sailed and had got just what was comin' to'em--that is, he was proclaiming it when Captain Sam heard him;after that the captain issued a proclamation of his own and wasproceeding to follow words with deeds. The affair ended by mutualacquaintances leading Captain Sam from the Babbitt HardwareCompany's store, the captain rumbling like a volcano and, to followup the simile, still emitting verbal brimstone and molten lava, while Mr. Babbitt, entrenched behind his counter, with a monkeywrench in his hand, dared his adversary to lay hands on a law-abiding citizen. 

When the Kaiser and von Tirpitz issued their final ultimatum, however, and the President called America to arms, Phineas, incompany with others of his breed, appeared to have experienced achange of heart. At all events he kept his anti-war opinions tohimself and, except that his hatred for the captain was morevirulent than ever since the affair of the postmastership, he foundlittle fault with the war preparations in the village, theorganizing of a Home Guard, the raising of funds for a new flag andflagpole and the recruiting meeting in the town hall. 

At that meeting a half dozen of Orham's best young fellows hadexpressed their desire to fight for Uncle Sam. The Orham band--minus its first cornet, who was himself one of the volunteers--hadserenaded them at the railway station and the Congregationalminister and Lawyer Poundberry of the Board of Selectmen had madespeeches. Captain Sam Hunniwell, being called upon to say a fewwords, had said a few--perhaps, considering the feelings of theminister and the feminine members of his flock present, it is wellthey were not more numerous. 

"Good luck to you, boys, " said Captain Sam. "I wish to theAlmighty I was young enough to go with you. And say, if you seethat Kaiser anywheres afloat or ashore give him particular merryhell for me, will you?"

And then, a little later, came the news that the conscription billhad become a law and that the draft was to be a reality. And withthat news the war itself became a little more real. And, suddenly, Phineas Babbitt, realizing that his son, Leander, was twenty-fiveyears old and, therefore, within the limits of the draft age, became once more an ardent, if a little more careful, conscientiousobjector. 

He discovered that the war was a profiteering enterprise engineeredby capital and greed for the exploiting of labor and the commonpeople. Whenever he thought it safe to do so he aired theseopinions and, as there were a few of what Captain Hunniwell called"yellow-backed swabs" in Orham or its neighborhood, he occasionallyhad sympathetic listeners. Phineas, it is only fair to say, hadnever heretofore shown any marked interest in labor except to getas much of it for as little money as possible. If his son, Leander, shared his father's opinions, he did not express them. Infact he said very little, working steadily in the store all day andappearing to have something on his mind. Most people likedLeander. 

Then came the draft and Leander was drafted. He said very littleabout it, but his father said a great deal. The boy should not go;the affair was an outrage. Leander wasn't strong, anyway; besides, wasn't he his father's principal support? He couldn't be spared, that's all there was about it, and he shouldn't be. There wasgoing to be an Exemption Board, wasn't there? All right--just waituntil he, Phineas, went before that board. He hadn't been inpolitics all these years for nothin'. Sam Hunniwell hadn't got allthe pull there was in the county. 

And then Captain Sam was appointed a member of that very board. Hehad dropped in at the windmill shop the very evening when hedecided to accept and told Jed Winslow all about it. There neverwere two people more unlike than Sam Hunniwell and Jed Winslow, butthey had been fast friends since boyhood. Jed knew that PhineasBabbitt had been on a trip to Boston and, therefore, had not heardof the captain's appointment. Now, according to Gabriel Bearse, hehad returned and had heard of it, and according to Bearse's excitedstatement he had "gone on" about it. 

"Leander's been drafted, " repeated Gabe. "And that was bad enoughfor Phineas, he bein' down on the war, anyhow. But he's beencal'latin', I cal'late, to use his political pull to get Leanderexempted off. Nine boards out of ten, if they'd had a man fromOrham on 'em, would have gone by what that man said in a case likeLeander's. And Phineas, he was movin' heavens and earth to get oneof his friends put on as the right Orham man. And now--NOW, bygodfreys domino, they've put on the ONE man that Phin can'tinfluence, that hates Phin worse than a cat hates a swim. Oh, youought to heard Phineas go on when I told him. He'd just got offthe train, as you might say, so nobody'd had a chance to tell him. I was the fust one, you see. So--"

"Was Leander there?"

"No, he wan't. There wan't nobody in the store but Susie Ellis, that keeps the books there now, and Abner Burgess's boy, that runserrands and waits on folks when everybody else is busy. That was afunny thing, too--that about Leander's not bein' there. Susie saidshe hadn't seen him since just after breakfast time, half pastseven o'clock or so, and when she telephoned the Babbitt house itturned out he hadn't been there, neither. Had his breakfast andwent out, he did, and that's all his step-ma knew about him. ButPhineas, he. . . . Eh? Ain't that the bell? Customer, I presumelikely. Want me to go see who 'tis, Shavin's--Jed, I mean?"

CHAPTER II

But the person who had entered the outer shop saved Mr. Bearse thetrouble. He, too, disregarded the "Private" sign on the door ofthe inner room. Before Gabriel could reach it that door was thrownopen and the newcomer entered. He was a big man, gray-mustached, with hair a grizzled red, and with blue eyes set in a florid face. The hand which had opened the door looked big and powerful enoughto have knocked a hole in it, if such a procedure had beennecessary. And its owner looked quite capable of doing it, if hedeemed it necessary, in fact he looked as if he would rather haveenjoyed it. He swept into the room like a northwest breeze, andtwo bundles of wooden strips, cut to the size of mill arms, clattered to the floor as he did so. 

"Hello, Jed!" he hailed, in a voice which measured up to the restof him. Then, noticing Mr. Bearse for the first time, he added:"Hello, Gabe, what are you doin' here?"

Gabriel hastened to explain. His habitual desire to please andhumor each person he met--each person of consequence, that is; verypoor people or village eccentrics like Jed Winslow did not muchmatter, of course--was in this case augmented by a particulardesire to please Captain Sam Hunniwell. Captain Sam, being one ofOrham's most influential men, was not, in Mr. Bearse's estimation, at all the sort of person whom it was advisable to displease. Hemight--and did--talk disparagingly of him behind his back, as hedid behind the back of every one else, but he smiled humbly andspoke softly in his presence. The consciousness of having justbeen talking of him, however, of having visited that shop for theexpress purpose of talking about him, made the explaining process atrifle embarrassing. 

"Oh, howd'ye do, howd'ye do, Cap'n Hunniwell?" stammered Gabriel. "Nice day, ain't it, sir? Yes, sir, 'tis a nice day. I was just--er--that is, I just run in to see Shavin's here; to make a littlecall, you know. We was just settin' here talkin', wan't we, Shavin's--Jed, I mean?"

Mr. Winslow stood his completed sailor man in a rack to dry. 

"Ya-as, " he drawled, solemnly, "that was about it, I guess. Have achair, Sam, won't you? . . . That was about it, we was sittin' andtalkin' . . . I was sittin' and Gab--Gabe, I mean--was talkin'. "

Captain Sam chuckled. As Winslow and Mr. Bearse were occupying theonly two chairs in the room he accepted the invitation in its broadsense and, turning an empty box upon end, sat down on that. 

"So Gabe was talkin', eh?" he repeated. "Well, that's singular. How'd that happen, Gabe?"

Mr. Bearse looked rather foolish. "Oh, we was just--just talkin'about--er--this and that, " he said, hastily. "Just this and that, nothin' partic'lar. Cal'late I'll have to be runnin' along now, Jed. "

Jed Winslow selected a new and unpainted sailor from the pile nearhim. He eyed it dreamily. 

"Well, Gabe, " he observed, "if you must, you must, I suppose. Seems to me you're leavin' at the most interestin' time. We'vebeen talkin' about this and that, same as you say, and now you'releavin' just as 'this' has got here. Maybe if you wait--wait--a--"

The sentence died away into nothingness. He had taken up the brushwhich he used for the blue paint. There was a loose bristle in it. He pulled this out and one or two more came with it. 

"Hu-um!" he mused, absently. 

Captain Sam was tired of waiting. 

"Come, finish her out, Jed--finish her out, " he urged. "What's therest of it?"

"I cal'late I'll run along now, " said Mr. Bearse, nervously movingtoward the door. 

"Hold on a minute, " commanded the captain. "Jed hadn't finishedwhat he was sayin' to you. He generally talks like one of thosecontinued-in-our-next yarns in the magazines. Give us theSeptember installment, Jed--come. "

Mr. Winslow smiled, a slow, whimsical smile that lit up his lean, brown face and then passed away as slowly as it had come, lingeringfor an instant at one corner of his mouth. 

"Oh, I was just tellin' Gabe that the 'this' he was talkin' aboutwas here now, " he said, "and that maybe if he waited a space the'that' would come, too. Seems to me if I was you, Gabe, I'd--"

But Mr. Bearse had gone. 

Captain Hunniwell snorted. "Humph!" he said; "I judge likely I'mthe 'this' you and that gas bag have been talkin' about. Who's the'that'?"

His companion was gazing absently at the door through which Gabrielhad made his hurried departure. After gazing at it in silence fora moment, he rose from the chair, unfolding section by section likea pocket rule, and, crossing the room, opened the door and tookfrom its other side the lettered sign "Private" which had hungthere. Then, with tacks and a hammer, he proceeded to affix theplacard to the inner side of the door, that facing the room wherehe and Captain Sam were. The captain regarded this operation withhuge astonishment. 

"Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "What in thunder are you doin' thatfor? This is the private room in here, ain't it?"

Mr. Winslow, returning to his chair, nodded. 

"Ya-as, " he admitted, "that's why I'm puttin' the 'Private' sign onthis side of the door. "

"Yes, but-- Why, confound it, anybody who sees it there will thinkit is the other room that's private, won't they?"

Jed nodded. "I'm in hopes they will, " he said. 

"You're in hopes they will! Why?"

"'Cause if Gabe Bearse thinks that room's private and that he don'tbelong there he'll be sartin sure to go there; then maybe he'llgive me a rest. "

He selected a new brush and went on with his painting. CaptainHunniwell laughed heartily. Then, all at once, his laughter ceasedand his face assumed a troubled expression. 

"Jed, " he ordered, "leave off daubin' at that wooden doll baby fora minute, will you? I want to talk to you. I want to ask you whatyou think I'd better do. I know what Gab Bearse-- Much obligedfor that name, Jed; 'Gab's' the best name on earth for thatcritter--I know what Gab came in here to talk about. 'Twas aboutme and my bein' put on the Exemption Board, of course. That wasit, wan't it? Um-hm, I knew 'twas. I was the 'this' in his 'thisand that. ' And Phin Babbitt was the 'that'; I'll bet on it. Am Iright?"

Winslow nodded. 

"Sure thing!" continued the captain. "Well, there 'tis. What am Igoin' to do? When they wanted me to take the job in the firstplace I kind of hesitated. You know I did. 'Twas bound to be oneof those thankless sort of jobs that get a feller into trouble, bound to be. And yet--and yet--well, SOMEBODY has to take thosekind of jobs. And a man hadn't ought to talk all the time abouthow he wishes he could do somethin' to help his country, and thenlay down and quit on the first chance that comes his way, just'cause that chance ain't--ain't eatin' up all the pie in the stateso the Germans can't get it, or somethin' like that. Ain't thatso?"

"Seems so to me, Sam. "

"Yes. Well, so I said I'd take my Exemption Board job. But when Isaid I'd accept it, it didn't run across my mind that LeanderBabbitt was liable to be drafted, first crack out of the box. Nowhe IS drafted, and, if I know Phin Babbitt, the old man will bedown on us Board fellers the first thing to get the boy exempted. AND, I bein' on the Board and hailin' from his own town, Orhamhere, it would naturally be to me that he'd come first. Eh?That's what he'd naturally do, ain't it?"

His friend nodded once more. Captain Sam lost patience. 

"Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "Jed Winslow, for thunder sakes saysomethin'! Don't set there bobbin' your head up and down like oneof those wound-up images in a Christmas-time store window. I askyou if that ain't what Phin Babbitt would do? What would you do ifyou was in his shoes?"

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"Step out of 'em, I guess likely, " he drawled. 

"Humph! Yes--well, any self-respectin' person would do that, evenif he had to go barefooted the rest of his life. But, what I'mgettin' at is this: Babbitt'll come to me orderin' me to getLeander exempted. And what'll I say?"

Winslow turned and looked at him. 

"Seems to me, Sam, " he answered, "that if that thing happenedthere'd be only one thing to say. You'd just have to tell him thatyou'd listen to his reasons and if they seemed good enough to letthe boy off, for your part you'd vote to let him off. If theydidn't seem good enough--why--"

"Well--what?"

"Why, then Leander'd have to go to war and his dad could go to--"

"Eh? Go on. I want to hear you say it. Where could he go?"

Jed wiped the surplus paint from his brush on the edge of the can. 

"To sellin' hardware, " he concluded, gravely, but with a twinkle inhis eye. 

Captain Sam sniffed, perhaps in disappointment. "His hardware'dmelt where I'D tell him to go, " he declared. "What you say is allright, Ed. It's an easy doctrine to preach, but, like lots ofother preacher's doctrines, it's hard to live up to. Phin loves melike a step-brother and I love him the same way. Well, now here hecomes to ask me to do a favor for him. If I don't do it, he'llsay, and the whole town'll say, that I'm ventin' my spite on him, keepin' on with my grudge, bein' nasty, cussed, everything that'smean. If I do do it, if I let Leander off, all hands'll say that Idid it because I was afraid of Phineas and the rest would say theother thing. It puts me in a devil of a position. It's all rightto say, 'Do your duty, ' 'Stand up in your shoes, ' 'Do what youthink's right, never mind whose boy 'tis, ' and all that, but Iwouldn't have that old skunk goin' around sayin' I took advantageof my position to rob him of his son for anything on earth. Idespise him too much to give him that much satisfaction. And yetthere I am, and the case'll come up afore me. What'll I do, Jed?Shall I resign? Help me out. I'm about crazy. Shall I heave upthe job? Shall I quit?"

Jed put down the brush and the sailor man. He rubbed his chin. 

"No-o, " he drawled, after a moment. 

"Oh, I shan't, eh? Why not?"

"'Cause you don't know how, Sam. It always seemed to me that ittook a lot of practice to be a quitter. You never practiced. "

"Thanks. All right, then, I'm to hang on, I suppose, and take mymedicine. If that's all the advice you've got to give me, I mightas well have stayed at home. But I tell you this, Jed Winslow: IfI'd realized--if I'd thought about the Leander Babbitt case comin'up afore me on that Board I never would have accepted theappointment. When you and I were talkin' here the other night it'squeer that neither of us thought of it. . . . Eh? What are youlookin at me like that for? You don't mean to tell me that YOU DIDthink of it? Did you?"

Winslow nodded. 

"Yes, " he said. "I thought of it. "

"You DID! Well, I swear! Then why in thunder didn't you--"

He was interrupted. The bell attached to the door of the outershop rang. The maker of windmills rose jerkily to his feet. Captain Sam made a gesture of impatience. 

"Get rid of your customer and come back here soon as you can, " heordered. Having commanded a steamer before he left the sea andbecome a banker, the captain usually ordered rather than requested. "Hurry all you can. I ain't half through talkin' with you. Forthe land sakes, MOVE! Of all the deliberate, slow travelin'--"

He did not finish his sentence, nor did Winslow, who had startedtoward the door, have time to reach it. The door was opened and ashort, thickset man, with a leathery face and a bristling yellow-white chin beard, burst into the room. At the sight of itsoccupants he uttered a grunt of satisfaction and his bushy browswere drawn together above his little eyes, the latter a washed-outgray and set very close together. 

"Humph!" he snarled, vindictively. "So you BE here. Gabe Bearsesaid you was, but I thought probably he was lyin', as usual. Didhe lie about the other thing, that's what I've come here to findout? Sam Hunniwell, have you been put on that Draft ExemptionBoard?"

"Yes, " he said, curtly, "I have. "

The man trembled all over. 

"You have?" he cried, raising his voice almost to a scream. 

"Yes, I have. What's it matter to you, Phin Babbitt? Seems tohave het you up some, that or somethin' else. "

"Het me up! By--" Mr. Phineas Babbitt swore steadily for a fullminute. When he stopped for breath Jed Winslow, who had steppedover and was looking out of the window, uttered an observation. 

"I'm afraid I made a mistake, changin' that sign, " he said, musingly. "I cal'late I'll make another: 'Prayer meetin's must beheld outside. '"

"By--, " began Mr. Babbitt again, but this time it was Captain Samwho interrupted. The captain occasionally swore at other people, but he was not accustomed to be sworn at. He, too, began to "heatup. " He rose to his feet. 

"That'll do, Babbitt, " he commanded. "What's the matter with you?Is it me you're cussin'? Because if it is--"

The little Babbitt eyes snapped defiance. 

"If it is, what?" he demanded. But before the captain could replyWinslow, turning away from the window, did so for him. 

"If it is, I should say 'twas a pretty complete job, " he drawled. "I don't know when I've heard fewer things left out. You havereason to be proud, both of you. And now, Phineas, " he went on, "what's it all about? What's the matter?"

Mr. Babbitt waved his fists again, preparatory to another outburst. Jed laid a big hand on his shoulder. 

"Don't seem to me time for the benediction yet, Phineas, " he said. "Ought to preach your sermon or sing a hymn first, seems so. Whatdid you come here for?"

Phineas Babbitt's hard gray eyes looked up into the big brown onesgazing mildly down upon him. His gaze shifted and his tone when henext spoke was a trifle less savage. 

"He knows well enough what I came here for, " he growled, indicatingHunniwell with a jerk of his thumb. "He knows that just as well ashe knows why he had himself put on that Exemption Board. "

"I didn't have myself put there, " declared the captain. "The jobwas wished on me. Lord knows I didn't want it. I was just tellin'Jed here that very thing. "

"Wished on you nothin'! You planned to get it and you worked toget it and I know why you did it, too. 'Twas to get another crackat me. 'Twas to play another dirty trick on me like the one youplayed that cheated me out of the post office. You knew they'ddrafted my boy and you wanted to make sure he didn't get clear. You--"

"That'll do!" Captain Hunniwell seized him by the shoulder. "That's enough, " cried the captain. "Your boy had nothin' to dowith it. I never thought of his name bein' drawn when I said I'daccept the job. "

"You lie!"

"WHAT? Why, you little sawed-off, dried-up, sassy son of a seacook! I'll--"

Winslow's lanky form was interposed between the pair; and his slow, gentle drawl made itself heard. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt the experience meetin', " he said, "but I'VEgot a call to testify and I feel the spirit aworkin'. Set downagain, Sam, will you please. Phineas, you set down over there. Please set down, both of you. Sam, as a favor to me--"

But the captain was not in a favor-extending mood. He glowered athis adversary and remained standing. 

"Phin--" begged Winslow. But Mr. Babbitt, although a trifle palerthan when he entered the shop, was not more yielding. 

"I'm particular who I set down along of, " he declared. "I'd assoon set down with a--a rattlesnake as I would with some humans. "

Captain Sam was not pale, far from it. 

"Skunks are always afraid of snakes, they tell me, " he observed, tartly. "A rattlesnake's honest, anyhow, and he ain't afraid tobite. He ain't all bad smell and nothin' else. "

Babbitt's bristling chin beard quivered with inarticulate hatred. Winslow sighed resignedly. 

"Well, " he asked, "you don't mind the other--er--critter in themenagerie sittin', do you? Now--now--now, just a minute, " hepleaded, as his two companions showed symptoms of speakingsimultaneously. "Just a minute; let me say a word. Phineas, Ijudge the only reason you have for objectin' to the captain's bein'on the Exemption Board is on account of your son, ain't it? It'sjust on Leander's account?"

But before the furious Mr. Babbitt could answer there came anotherinterruption. The bell attached to the door of the outer shop rangonce more. Jed, who had accepted his own invitation to sit, roseagain with a groan. 

"Now I wonder who THAT is?" he drawled, in mild surprise. 

Captain Hunniwell's frayed patience, never noted for longendurance, snapped again. "Gracious king! go and find out, " heroared. "Whoever 'tis 'll die of old age before you get there. "

The slow smile drifted over Mr. Winslow's face. "Probably if Iwait and give 'em a chance they'll come in here and have apoplexyinstead, " he said. "That seems to be the fashionable disease thisafternoon. They won't stay out there and be lonesome; they'll comein here where it's private and there's a crowd. Eh? Yes, herethey come. "

But the newest visitor did not come, like the others, uninvitedinto the "private" room. Instead he knocked on its door. WhenWinslow opened it he saw a small boy with a yellow envelope in hishand. 

"Hello, Josiah, " hailed Jed, genially. "How's the president of theWestern Union these days?"

The boy grinned bashfully and opined the magnate just mentioned was"all right. " Then he added:

"Is Mr. Babbitt here? Mr. Bearse--Mr. Gabe Bearse--is over at theoffice and he said he saw Mr. Babbitt come in here. "

"Yes, he's here. Want to see him, do you?"

"I've got a telegram for him. "

Mr. Babbitt himself came forward and took the yellow envelope. After absently turning it over several times, as so many people dowhen they receive an unexpected letter or message, he tore it open. 

Winslow and Captain Sam, watching him, saw his face, to which thecolor had returned in the last few minutes, grow white again. Hestaggered a little. Jed stepped toward him. 

"What is it, Phin?" he asked. "Somebody dead or--"

Babbitt waved him away. "No, " he gasped, chokingly. "No, let mebe. I'm--I'm all right. "

Captain Sam, a little conscience-stricken, came forward. "Are yousick, Phin?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Phineas glowered at him. "Yes, " he snarled between his clenchedteeth, "you can mind your own darned business. "

Then, turning to the boy who had brought the message, he ordered:"You get out of here. "

The frightened youngster scuttled away and Babbitt, the telegramrattling in his shaking hand, followed him. The captain, hurryingto the window, saw him go down the walk and along the road in thedirection of his store. He walked like a man stricken. 

Captain Sam turned back again. "Now what in time was in thattelegram?" he demanded. Jed, standing with his back toward him andlooking out of the window on the side of the shop toward the sea, did not answer. 

"Do you hear me?" asked the captain. "That telegram struck himlike a shock of paralysis. He went all to pieces. What on earthdo you suppose was in it? Eh? Why don't you say somethin'? YOUdon't know what was in it, do you?"

Winslow shook his head. "No, " he answered. "I don't know's I do. "

"You don't know as you do? Well, do you GUESS you do? JedWinslow, what have you got up your sleeve?"

The proprietor of the windmill shop slowly turned and faced him. "I don't know's there's anything there, Sam, " he answered, "but--but I shouldn't be much surprised if that telegram was fromLeander. "

"Leander? Leander Babbitt? What . . . Eh? What in thunder doYOU want?"

The last question was directed toward the window on the street sideof the shop. Mr. Gabriel Bearse was standing on the outside ofthat window, energetically thumping on the glass. 

"Open her up! Open her up!" commanded Gabe. "I've got somethin'to tell you. "

Captain Sam opened the window. Gabriel's face was aglow withexcitement. "Say! Say!" he cried. "Did he tell you? Did he tellyou?"

"Did who tell what?" demanded the captain. 

"Did Phin Babbitt tell you what was in that telegram he just got?What did he say when he read it? Did he swear? I bet he did! Ifthat telegram wan't some surprise to old Babbitt, then--"

"Do you know what 'twas--what the telegram was?"

"Do I? You bet you I do! And I'm the only one in this town exceptPhin and Jim Bailey that does know. I was in the telegraph officewhen Jim took it over the wire. I see Jim was pretty excited. 'Well, ' says he, 'if this won't be some jolt to old Phin!' he says. 'What will?' says I. 'Why, ' says he--"

"What was it?" demanded Captain Sam. "You're dyin' to tell us, ablind man could see that. Get it off your chest and save yourlife. What was it?"

Mr. Bearse leaned forward and whispered. There was no real reasonwhy he should whisper, but doing so added a mysterious, confidential tang, so to speak, to the value of his news. 

"'Twas from Leander--from Phin's own boy, Leander Babbitt, 'twas. 'Twas from him, up in Boston and it went somethin' like this: 'Haveenlisted in the infantry. Made up my mind best thing to do. Willnot be back. Have written particulars. ' That was it, or prettynigh it. Leander's enlisted. Never waited for no Exemption Boardnor nothin', but went up and enlisted on his own hook withouttellin' a soul he was goin' to. That's the way Bailey and mefigger it up. Say, ain't that some news? Godfreys, I must hustleback to the post office and tell the gang afore anybody else getsahead of me. So long!"

He hurried away on his joyful errand. Captain Hunniwell closed thewindow and turned to face his friend. 

"Do you suppose that's true, Jed?" he asked. "Do you suppose itCAN be true?"

Jed nodded. "Shouldn't be surprised, " he said. 

"Good gracious king! Do you mean the boy went off up to Boston onhis own hook, as that what's-his-name--Gab--says, and volunteeredand got himself enlisted into the army?"

"Shouldn't wonder, Sam. "

"Well, my gracious king! Why--why--no wonder old Babbitt looked asif the main topsail yard had fell on him. Tut, tut, tut! Well, Ideclare! Now what do you suppose put him up to doin' that?"

Winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked up the woodensailor and the paint brush. 

"Well, Sam, " he said, slowly, "Leander's a pretty good boy. "

"Yes, I suppose he is, but he's Phin Babbitt's son. "

"I know, but don't it seem to you as if some sorts of fathers waslike birthmarks and bow legs; they come early in life and a fellerain't to blame for havin' 'em? Sam, you ain't sorry the boy'svolunteered, are you?"

"Sorry! I should say not! For one thing his doin' it makes my jobon the Exemption Board a mighty sight easier. There won't be anyrow there with Phineas now. "

"No-o, I thought 'twould help that. But that wan't the wholereason, Sam. "

"Reason for what? What do you mean?"

"I mean that wan't my whole reason for tellin' Leander he'd bettervolunteer, better go up to Boston and enlist, same as he did. Thatwas part, but 'twan't all. "

Captain Sam's eyes and mouth opened. He stared at the speaker inamazement. 

"You told him to volunteer?" he repeated. "You told him to go toBoston and-- YOU did? What on earth?"

Jed's brush moved slowly down the wooden legs of his sailor man. 

"Leander and I are pretty good friends, " he explained. "I like himand he--er--hum--I'm afraid that paint's kind of thick. Cal'lateI'll have to thin it a little. "

Captain Sam condemned the paint to an eternal blister. 

"Go on! go on!" he commanded. "What about you and Leander? Finishher out. Can't you see you've got my head whirlin' like one ofthose windmills of yours? Finish her OUT!"

Jed looked over his spectacles. 

"Oh!" he said. "Well, Leander's been comin' in here prettyfrequent and we've talked about his affairs a good deal. He'salways wanted to enlist ever since the war broke out. "

"He HAS?"

"Why, sartin. Just the same as you would, or--or I hope I would, if I was young and--and, " with a wistful smile, "different, andlikely to be any good to Uncle Sam. Yes, Leander's been anxious togo to war, but his dad was so set against it all and kept hollerin'so about the boy's bein' needed in the store, that Leander didn'thardly know what to do. But then when he was drawn on the draftlist he came in here and he and I had a long talk. 'Twasyesterday, after you'd told me about bein' put on the Board, youknow. I could see the trouble there'd be between you and Phineasand--and--well, you see, Sam, I just kind of wanted that boy tovolunteer. I--I don't know why, but--" He looked up from his workand stared dreamily out of the window. "I guess maybe 'twasbecause I've been wishin' so that I could go myself--or--doSOMETHIN' that was some good. So Leander and I talked and finallyhe said, 'Well, by George, I WILL go. ' And--and--well, I guessthat's all; he went, you see. "

The captain drew a long breath. 

"He went, " he repeated. "And you knew he'd gone?"

"No, I didn't know, but I kind of guessed. "

"You guessed, and yet all the time I've been here you haven't saida word about it till this minute. "

"Well, I didn't think 'twas much use sayin' until I knew. "

"Well, my gracious king, Jed Winslow, you beat all my goin' to sea!But you've helped Uncle Sam to a good soldier and you've helped meout of a nasty row. For my part I'm everlastin' obliged to you, Iam so. "

Jed looked pleased but very much embarrassed. 

"Sho, sho, " he exclaimed, hastily, "'twan't anything. Oh, say, "hastily changing the subject, "I've got some money 'round heresomewheres I thought maybe you'd take to the bank and deposit forme next time you went, if 'twan't too much trouble. "

"Trouble? Course 'tain't any trouble. Where is it?"

Winslow put down his work and began to hunt. From one drawer ofhis work bench, amid nails, tools and huddles of papers, heproduced a small bundle of banknotes; from another drawer anotherbundle. These, however, did not seem to satisfy him entirely. Atlast, after a good deal of very deliberate search, he unearthedmore paper currency from the pocket of a dirty pair of overallshanging on a nail, and emptied a heap of silver and coppers from abattered can on the shelf. Captain Hunniwell, muttering tohimself, watched the collecting process. When it was completed, heasked:

"Is this all?"

"Eh? Yes, I guess 'tis. I can't seem to find any more just now. Maybe another batch'll turn up later. If it does I'll keep it tillnext time. "

The captain, suppressing his emotions, hastily counted the money. 

"Have you any idea how much there is here?" he asked. 

"No, I don't know's I have. There's been quite consider'ble comin'in last fortni't or so. Summer folks been payin' bills and onething or 'nother. Might be forty or fifty dollars, I presumelikely. "

"Forty or fifty! Nearer a hundred and fifty! And you keep itstuffed around in every junk hole from the roof to the cellar. Wonder to me you don't light your pipe with it. I shouldn't wonderif you did. How many times have I told you to deposit your moneyevery three days anyhow? How many times?"

Mr. Winslow seemed to reflect. 

"Don't know, Sam, " he admitted. "Good many, I will give in. But--but, you see, Sam, if--if I take it to the bank I'm liable toforget I've got it. Long's it's round here somewheres I--why, Iknow where 'tis and--and it's handy. See, don't you?"

The captain shook his head. 

"Jed Winslow, " he declared, "as I said to you just now you beat allmy goin' to sea. I can't make you out. When I see how you actwith money and business, and how you let folks take advantage ofyou, then I think you're a plain dum fool. And yet when you bob upand do somethin' like gettin' Leander Babbitt to volunteer andgettin' me out of that row with his father, then--well, then, I'mready to swear you're as wise as King Solomon ever was. You're apuzzle to me, Jed. What are you, anyway--the dum fool or KingSolomon?"

Jed looked meditatively over his spectacles. The slow smiletwitched the corners of his lips. 

"Well, Sam, " he drawled, "if you put it to vote at town meetin' Ical'late the majority'd be all one way. But, I don't know"--; hepaused, and then added, "I don't know, Sam, but it's just as wellas 'tis. A King Solomon down here in Orham would be an awfullonesome cuss. "

CHAPTER III

Upon a late September day forty-nine years and some months beforethat upon which Gabe Bearse came to Jed Winslow's windmill shop inOrham with the news of Leander Babbitt's enlistment, Miss FlorettaThompson came to that village to teach the "downstairs" school. Miss Thompson was an orphan. Her father had kept a small drugstore in a town in western Massachusetts. Her mother had been aclergyman's daughter. Both had died when she was in her 'teens. Now, at twenty, she came to Cape Cod, pale, slim, with a wealth oflight brown hair and a pair of large, dreamy brown eyes. Her tastein dress was peculiar, even eccentric, and Orham soon discoveredthat she, herself, was also somewhat eccentric. 

As a schoolteacher she was not an unqualified success. The"downstairs" curriculum was not extensive nor very exacting, but itwas supposed to impart to the boys and girls of from seven totwelve a rudimentary knowledge of the three R's and of geography. In the first two R's, "readin' and 'ritin', " Miss Thompson wasproficient. She wrote a flowery Spencerian, which was beautifully"shaded" and looked well on the blackboard, and reading was thedissipation of her spare moments. The third "R, " 'rithmetic, sheloathed. 

Youth, even at the ages of from seven to twelve, is only tooproficient in learning to evade hard work. The fact that Teachertook no delight in traveling the prosaic highways of addition, multiplication and division, but could be easily lured to wanderthe flowery lanes of romantic fiction, was soon grasped by thedownstairs pupils. The hour set for recitation by the first classin arithmetic was often and often monopolized by a hold-over of thefirst class in reading, while Miss Floretta, artfully spurred byquestions asked by the older scholars, rhapsodized on the beautiesof James Fenimore Cooper's "Uncas, " or Dickens' "Little Nell, " orScott's "Ellen. " Some of us antiques, then tow-headed littleshavers in the front seats, can still remember Miss Floretta'srendition of the lines:

"And Saxon--I am Roderick Dhu!"

The extremely genteel, not to say ladylike, elocution of theHighland chief and the indescribable rising inflection and emphasison the "I. "

These literary rambles had their inevitable effect, an effectnoted, after a time, and called to the attention of the schoolcommittee by old Captain Lycurgus Batcheldor, whose twograndchildren were among the ramblers. 

"Say, " demanded Captain Lycurgus, "how old does a young-one have tobe afore it's supposed to know how much four times eight is? MySarah's Nathan is pretty nigh ten and HE don't know it. Gave methree answers he did; first that 'twas forty-eight, then that 'twaseighty-four and then that he'd forgot what 'twas. But I noticed hecould tell me a whole string about some feller called Lockintar orLochinvar or some such outlandish name, and not only his name butwhere he came from, which was out west somewheres. A poetry piece'twas; Nate said the teacher'd been speakin' it to 'em. I ain'tgot no objection to speakin' pieces, but I do object to bein' toldthat four times eight is eighty-four, 'specially when I'm buyin'codfish at eight cents a pound. I ain't on the school committee, but if I was--"

So the committee investigated and when Miss Thompson's year was upand the question arose as to her re-engagement, there wasconsiderable hesitancy. But the situation was relieved in a mostunexpected fashion. Thaddeus Winslow, first mate on the clippership, "Owner's Favorite, " at home from a voyage to the Dutch EastIndies, fell in love with Miss Floretta, proposed, was accepted andmarried her. 

It was an odd match: Floretta, pale, polite, impractical andintensely romantic; Thad, florid, rough and to the point. Yet themarried pair seemed to be happy together. Winslow went to sea onseveral voyages and, four years after the marriage, remained athome for what, for him, was a long time. During that time a child, a boy, was born. 

The story of the christening of that child is one of Orham's petyarns even to this day. It seems that there was a markeddisagreement concerning the name to be given him. Captain Thad hadhad an Uncle Edgar, who had been very kind to him when a boy. Thecaptain wished to name his own youngster after this uncle. ButFloretta's heart was set upon "Wilfred, " her favorite hero ofromance being Wilfred of Ivanhoe. The story is that the parentsbeing no nearer an agreement on the great question, Floretta made aproposal of compromise. She proposed that her husband take up hisstand by the bedroom window and the first male person he sawpassing on the sidewalk below, the name of that person should begiven to their offspring; a sporting proposition certainly. Butthe story goes on to detract a bit from the sporting element byexplaining that Mrs. Winslow was expecting a call at that hour fromthe Baptist minister, and the Baptist minister's Christian name was"Clarence, " which, if not quite as romantic as Wilfred, is by nomeans common and prosaic. Captain Thad, who had not been informedof the expected ministerial call and was something of a sporthimself, assented to the arrangement. It was solemnly agreed thatthe name of the first male passer-by should be the name of the newWinslow. The captain took up his post of observation at the windowand waited. 

He did not have to wait long. Unfortunately for romance, theReverend Clarence was detained at the home of another parishioner atrifle longer than he had planned and the first masculine to passthe Winslow home was old Jedidah Wingate, the fish peddler. Mrs. Diadama Busteed, who was acting as nurse in the family and had beensworn in as witness to the agreement between husband and wife, declared to the day of her death that that death was hastened bythe shock to her nervous and moral system caused by Captain Thad'slanguage when old Jedidah hove in sight. He vowed over and overagain that he would be everlastingly condemned if he would label ayoung-one of his with such a crashety-blank-blanked outrage of aname as "Jedidah. " "Jedidiah" was bad enough, but there WERE a fewJedidiahs in Ostable County, whereas there was but one Jedidah. Mrs. Winslow, who did not fancy Jedidah any more than her husbanddid, wept; Captain Thad's profanity impregnated the air withbrimstone. But they had solemnly sworn to the agreement and Mrs. Busteed had witnessed it, and an oath is an oath. Besides, Mrs. Winslow was inclined to think the whole matter guided by Fate, and, being superstitious as well as romantic, feared dire calamity ifFate was interfered with. It ended in a compromise and, afortnight later, the Reverend Clarence, keeping his countenancewith difficulty, christened a red-faced and protesting infant"Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow. "

Jedidah Edgar Wilfred grew up. At first he was called "Edgar" byhis father and "Wilfred" by his mother. His teachers, day schooland Sunday school, called him one or the other as suited theirindividual fancies. But his schoolmates and playfellows, knowingthat he hated the name above all else on earth, gleefully hailedhim as "Jedidah. " By the time he was ten he was "Jed" Winslowbeyond hope of recovery. Also it was settled locally that he was"queer"--not "cracked" or "lacking, " which would have implied thathis brain was affected--but just "queer, " which meant that his waysof thinking and acting were different from those of Orham ingeneral. 

His father, Captain Thaddeus, died when Jed was fifteen, justthrough the grammar school and ready to enter the high. He did notenter; instead, the need of money being pressing, he went to workin one of the local stores, selling behind the counter. If hisfather had lived he would, probably, have gone away after finishinghigh school and perhaps, if by that time the mechanical abilitywhich he possessed had shown itself, he might even have gone tosome technical school or college. In that case Jed Winslow'scareer might have been very, very different. But instead he wentto selling groceries, boots, shoes, dry goods and notions for Mr. Seth Wingate, old Jedidah's younger brother. 

As a grocery clerk Jed was not a success, neither did he shine as aclerk in the post office, nor as an assistant to the localexpressman. In desperation he began to learn the carpenter's tradeand, because he liked to handle tools, did pretty well at it. Buthe continued to be "queer" and his absent-minded dreaminess was inevidence even then. 

"I snum I don't know what to make of him, " declared Mr. AbijahMullett, who was the youth's "boss. " "Never know just what he'sgoin' to do or just what he's goin' to say. I says to himyesterday: 'Jed, ' says I, 'you do pretty well with tools and wood, considerin' what little experience you've had. Did Cap'n Thadteach you some or did you pick it up yourself?' He never answeredfor a minute or so, seemed to be way off dreamin' in the nextcounty somewheres. Then he looked at me with them big eyes of hisand he drawled out: 'Comes natural to me, Mr. Mullett, I guess, ' hesays. 'There seems to be a sort of family feelin' between my headand a chunk of wood. ' Now what kind of an answer was that, I wantto know!"

Jed worked at carpentering for a number of years, sometimes goingas far away as Ostable to obtain employment. And then his motherwas seized with the illness from which, so she said, she neverrecovered. It is true that Doctor Parker, the Orham physician, declared that she had recovered, or might recover if she cared to. Which of the pair was right does not really matter. At all eventsMrs. Winslow, whether she recovered or not, never walked abroadagain. She was "up and about, " as they say in Orham, and did somehousework, after a fashion, but she never again set foot across thegranite doorstep of the Winslow cottage. Probably the poor woman'smind was slightly affected; it is charitable to hope that it was. It seems the only reasonable excuse for the oddity of her behaviorduring the last twenty years of her life, for her growingquerulousness and selfishness and for the exacting slavery in whichshe kept her only son. 

During those twenty years whatever ambition Jedidah Edgar Wilfredmay once have had was thoroughly crushed. His mother would nothear of his leaving her to find better work or to obtain promotion. She needed him, she wailed; he was her life, her all; she shoulddie if he left her. Some hard-hearted townspeople, CaptainHunniwell among them, disgustedly opined that, in view of such aresult, Jed should be forcibly kidnaped forthwith for the generalbetterment of the community. But Jed himself never rebelled. Hecheerfully gave up his youth and early middle age to his mother andwaited upon her, ran her errands, sat beside her practically everyevening and read romance after romance aloud for her benefit. Andhis "queerness" developed, as under such circumstances it was boundto do. 

Money had to be earned and, as the invalid would not permit him toleave her to earn it, it was necessary to find ways of earning itat home. Jed did odd jobs of carpentering and cabinet making, wentfishing sometimes, worked in gardens between times, did almostanything, in fact, to bring in the needed dollars. And when he wasthirty-eight years old he made and sold his first "Cape Cod Winslowwindmill, " the forerunner of the thousands to follow. That mill, made in some of his rare idle moments and given to the child of awealthy summer visitor, made a hit. The child liked it and otherchildren wanted mills just like it. Then "grown-ups" among thesummer folk took up the craze. "Winslow mills" became the fad. Jed built his little shop, or the first installment of it. 

Mrs. Floretta Winslow died when her son was forty. A mercifulrelease, Captain Sam and the rest called it, but to Jed it was astunning shock. He had no one to take care of now except himselfand he did not know what to do. He moped about like a desertedcat. Finally he decided that he could not live in the old housewhere he was born and had lived all his life. He expressed hisfeelings concerning that house to his nearest friend, practicallyhis sole confidant, Captain Sam. 

"I can't somehow seem to stand it, Sam, " he said, solemnly. "Ican't stay in that house alone any longer, it's--it's toosociable. "

The captain, who had expected almost anything but that, stared athim. 

"Sociable!" he repeated. "You're sailin' stern first, Jed. Lonesome's what you mean, of course. "

Jed shook his head. 

"No-o, " he drawled, "I mean sociable. There's too many boys inthere, for one thing. "

"Boys!" Captain Sam was beginning to be really alarmed now. "Boys! Say--say, Jed Winslow, you come along home to dinner withme. I bet you've forgot to eat anything for the last day or so--been inventin' some new kind of whirlagig or other--and your emptystomach's gone to your head and made it dizzy. Boys! Graciousking! Come on home with me. "

Jed smiled his slow smile. "I don't mean real boys, Sam, " heexplained. "I mean me--I'm the boys. Nights now when I'm walkin'around in that house alone I meet myself comin' round every corner. Me when I was five, comin' out of the buttery with a cooky in eachfist; and me when I was ten sittin' studyin' my lesson book in thecorner; and me when I was fifteen, just afore Father died, sittin'all alone thinkin' what I'd do when I went to Boston Tech same ashe said he was cal'latin' to send me. Then--"

He paused and lapsed into one of his fits of musing. His frienddrew a breath of relief. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Well, I don't mind your meetin' yourself. Ithought first you'd gone off your head, blessed if I didn't. You're a queer critter, Jed. Get those funny notions from readin'so many books, I guess likely. Meetin' yourself! What an ideathat is! I suppose you mean that, bein' alone in that house whereyou've lived since you was born, you naturally get to thinkin'about what used to be. "

Jed stared wistfully at the back of a chair. 

"Um-hm, " he murmured, "and what might have been--and--and ain't. "

The captain nodded. Of all the people in Orham he, he pridedhimself, was the only one who thoroughly understood Jed Winslow. And sometimes he did partially understand him; this was one of thetimes. 

"Now--now--now, " he said, hastily, "don't you get to frettin'yourself about your not amountin' to anything and all that. You'vegot a nice little trade of your own buildin' up here. What more doyou want? We can't all be--er--Know-it-alls like Shakespeare, or--or rich as Standard Oil Companies, can we? Look here, what do youwaste your time goin' back twenty-five years and meetin' yourselffor? Why don't you look ahead ten or fifteen and try to meetyourself then? You may be a millionaire, a--er--windmill trust orsomethin' of that kind, by that time. Eh? Ha, ha!"

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"When I meet myself lookin' like a millionaire, " he observed, gravely, "I'll have to do the way you do at your bank, Sam--call insomebody to identify me. "

Captain Sam laughed. "Well, anyhow, " he said, "don't talk any morefoolishness about not livin' in your own house. If I was you--"

Mr. Winslow interrupted. "Sam, " he said, "the way to find out whatyou would do if you was me is to make sure WHAT you'd do--and thendo t'other thing, or somethin' worse. "

"Oh, Jed, be reasonable. "

Jed looked over his spectacles. "Sam, " he drawled, "if I wasreasonable I wouldn't be me. "

And he lived no longer in the old house. Having made up his mind, he built a small two-room addition to his workshop and lived inthat. Later he added a sleeping room--a sort of loft--and a littlecovered porch on the side toward the sea. Here, in pleasant summertwilights or on moonlight nights, he sat and smoked. He had a goodmany callers and but few real friends. Most of the townspeopleliked him, but almost all considered him a joke, an oddity, aspecimen to be pointed out to those of the summer people who werelooking for "types. " A few, like Mr. Gabriel Bearse, whodistinctly did NOT understand him and who found his solemnsuggestions and pointed repartee irritating at times, were inclinedto refer to him in these moments of irritation as "town crank. "But they did not really mean it when they said it. And someothers, like Leander Babbitt or Captain Hunniwell, came to ask hisadvice on personal matters, although even they patronized him justa little. He had various nicknames, "Shavings" being the mostpopular. 

His peculiar business, the making of wooden mills, toys and weathervanes, had grown steadily. Now he shipped many boxes of these toother seashore and mountain resorts. He might have doubled hisoutput had he chosen to employ help or to enlarge his plant, but hewould not do so. He had rented the old Winslow house furnishedonce to a summer tenant, but he never did so again, although he hadmany opportunities. He lived alone in the addition to the littleworkshop, cooking his own meals, making his own bed, and sewing onhis own buttons. 

And on the day following that upon which Leander Babbitt enrolledto fight for Uncle Sam, Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow was forty-five years old. 

He was conscious of that fact when he arose. It was a pleasantmorning, the sun was rising over the notched horizon of thetumbling ocean, the breeze was blowing, the surf on the bar wasfrothing and roaring cheerily--and it was his birthday. Themorning, the sunrise, the surf and all the rest were pleasant tocontemplate--his age was not. So he decided not to contemplate it. Instead he went out and hoisted at the top of the short pole on theedge of the bluff the flag he had set there on the day when theUnited States declared war against the Hun. He hoisted it everyfine morning and he took it in every night. 

He stood for a moment, watching the red, white and blue flappingbravely in the morning sunshine, then he went back into his littlekitchen at the rear of the workshop and set about cooking hisbreakfast. The kitchen was about as big as a good-sized packingbox and Jed, standing over the oilstove, could reach any shelf insight without moving. He cooked his oatmeal porridge, boiled hisegg and then sat down at the table in the next room--his combinedliving and dining-room and not very much bigger than the kitchen--to eat. When he had finished, he washed the dishes, walked up tothe post office for the mail and then, entering the workshop, tookup the paint brush and the top sailor-man of the pile beside himand began work. This, except on Sundays, was his usual morningroutine. It varied little, except that he occasionally sawed orwhittled instead of painted, or, less occasionally still, boxedsome of his wares for shipment. 

During the forenoon he had some visitors. A group of summer peoplefrom the hotel came in and, after pawing over and displacing abouthalf of the movable stock, bought ten or fifteen dollars' worth anddeparted. Mr. Winslow had the satisfaction of hearing them burstinto a shout of laughter as they emerged into the yard and theshrill voice of one of the females in the party rose above thehilarity with: "Isn't he the WEIRDEST thing!" And an accompanyingmale voice appraised him as "Some guy, believe me! S-o-o-me guy!"Jed winced a little, but he went on with his painting. On one'sforty-fifth birthday one has acquired or should have acquired acertain measure of philosophical resignation. 

Other customers or lookers came and went. Maud Hunniwell, CaptainSam's daughter, dropped in on her way to the post office. Thecaptain was a widower and Maud was his only child. She was, therefore, more than the apple of his eye, she was a whole orchardof apples. She was eighteen, pretty and vivacious, and her fathermade a thorough job of spoiling her. Not that the spoiling hadinjured her to any great extent, it had not as yet, but that wasCaptain Sam's good luck. Maud was wearing a new dress--she had anew one every week or so--and she came into the windmill shop toshow it. Of course she would have denied that that was the reasonfor her coming, but the statement stands, nevertheless. She andJed were great chums and had been since she could walk. She likedhim, took his part when she heard him criticized or made fun of, and was always prettily confidential and friendly when they werealone together. Of course there was a touch of superiority andpatronage in her friendship. She should not be blamed for this;all Orham, consciously or unconsciously, patronized Jed Winslow. 

She came into the inner shop and sat down upon the same upturnedbox upon which her father had sat the afternoon before. Her firstremark, after "good mornings" had been exchanged, was concerningthe "Private" sign on the inner side of the door. 

"What in the world have you put that sign inside here for?" shedemanded. 

Mr. Winslow explained, taking his own deliberate time in making theexplanation. Miss Hunniwell wrinkled her dainty upturned nose andburst into a trill of laughter. 

"Oh, that's lovely, " she declared, "and just like you, besides. And do you think Gabe Bearse will go back into the other room whenhe sees it?"

Jed looked dreamily over his spectacles at the sign. "I don'tknow, " he drawled. "If I thought he'd go wherever that sign was Iain't sure but I'd tack it on the cover of the well out in the yardyonder. "

His fair visitor laughed again. "Why, Jed, " she exclaimed. "Youwouldn't want to drown him, would you?"

Jed seemed to reflect. "No-o, " he answered, slowly, "don't know'sI would--not in my well, anyhow. "

Miss Hunniwell declared that that was all nonsense. "You wouldn'tdrown a kitten, " she said. "I know that because when Mrs. Nathaniel Rogers' old white cat brought all her kittens over herethe first of this summer you wouldn't even put them out in the yardat night, to say nothing of drowning them. All six and the mothercat stayed here and fairly swarmed over you and ate you out ofhouse and home. Father said he believed they fed at the firsttable and you were taking what was left. It was a mercy the oldcat decided to lead them back to the Rogers' again or I don't knowWHAT might have become of you by this time. "

Jed seemed to be thinking; there was a reminiscent twinkle in hiseye. 

"The old cat didn't lead 'em back, " he said. "Nathaniel took 'emback. Didn't I ever tell you about that?"

"No, you didn't. You KNOW you didn't. Mr. Rogers took them back?I can't believe it. He told everywhere about town that he was gladto get rid of the whole family and, as you and the cats seemed tobe mutually happy together, he wasn't going to disturb you. Hethought it was a great joke on you. And he took them back himself?Why?"

Mr. Winslow rubbed his chin. "I don't know's I'd ought to sayanything about it, " he said. "I haven't afore. I wouldn'tinterfere with Nate's sales for anything. "

"Sales? Sales of what? Oh, you mean thing! Don't be soprovoking! Tell me the whole story this minute. "

Jed painted a moment or two. Then he said: "We-ell, Maud, you seethose kittens got to be kind of a nuisance. They was cunnin' andcute and all that, but they was so everlastin' lively and hungrythat they didn't give me much of a chance. I was only one, yousee, and they had a majority vote every time on who should have thebed and the chairs and the table and one thing or 'nother. If Isat down I sat on a cat. If I went to bed I laid down on cats, andwhen I turned them out and turned in myself they came and laid downon ME. I slept under fur blankets most of June. And as foreatin'-- Well, every time I cooked meat or fish they sat down in acircle and whooped for some. When I took it off the fire and putit in a plate on the table, I had to put another plate and a--aplane or somethin' heavy on top of it or they'd have had it sartinsure. Then when I sat down to eat it they formed a circle againlike a reg'lar band and tuned up and hollered. Lord a-mercy, HOWthey did holler! And if one of the kittens stopped, run out ofwind or got a sore throat or anything, the old cat would bite it toset it goin' again. She wan't goin' to have any shirkin' in HERorchestra. I ate to music, as you might say, same as I've readthey do up to Boston restaurants. And about everything I did eatwas stuffed with cats' hairs. Seemed sometimes as if those kittenswas solid fur all the way through; they never could have shed allthat hair from the outside. Somebody told me that kittens nevershed hair, 'twas only full grown cats did that. I don't believeit. Nate Rogers' old maltee never shed all that alone; allowin'her a half barrel, there was all of another barrel spread aroundthe premises. No-o, those cats was a good deal of a nuisance. Um-hm. . . . Yes, they was. . . . "

He paused and, apparently having forgotten that he was in themiddle of a story, began to whistle lugubriously and to bend allhis other energies to painting. Miss Hunniwell, who had laugheduntil her eyes were misty, wiped them with her handkerchief andcommanded him to go on. 

"Tell me the rest of it, " she insisted. "How did you get rid ofthem? How did Mr. Rogers come to take them back?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, why, you see, I went over to Nate's three or fourtimes and told him his cat and kittens were here and I didn't feelright to deprive him of 'em any longer. He said never mind, Icould keep 'em long as I wanted to. I said that was about as longas I had kept 'em. Then he said he didn't know's he cared aboutever havin' 'em again; said he and his wife had kind of lost theirtaste for cats, seemed so. I--well, I hinted that, long as thetribe was at my house I wan't likely to have a chance to taste muchof anything, but it didn't seem to have much effect. Then--"

"Yes, yes; go on! go on!"

"Oh. . . . Then one day Nate he happened to be in here--come toborrow somethin', some tool seems to me 'twas--and the cats wasclimbin' round promiscuous same as usual. And one of the summerwomen came in while he was here, wanted a mill for her little nieceor somethin'. And she saw one of the animals and she droppedeverything else and sang out: 'Oh, what a beautiful kitten! Whatunusual coloring! May I see it?' Course she was seein' italready, but I judged she meant could she handle it, so I tried tohaul the critter loose from my leg--there was generally one or moreof 'em shinnin' over me somewhere. It squalled when I took hold ofit and she says: 'Oh, it doesn't want to come, does it! It musthave a very affectionate disposition to be so attached to you. 'Seemed to me 'twas attached by its claws more'n its disposition, but I pried it loose and handed it to her. Then she says again, 'What unusual colorin'! Will you sell this one to me? I'll giveyou five dollars for it. '"

He stopped again. Another reminder from Miss Hunniwell wasnecessary to make him continue. 

"And you sold one of those kittens for five dollars?" she cried. 

"No-o. "

"You didn't? Why, you foolish man! Why not?"

"I never had a chance. Afore I could say a word Nate Rogers spokeup and said the kittens belonged to him. Then she saw another onethat she hadn't seen afore and she says: 'Oh, that one has moreunusual colorin's even than this. I never saw such color in acat. ' Course she meant ON a cat but we understood what she meant. 'Are they a very rare breed?' she asked. Nate said they was and--"

Miss Hunniwell interrupted. "But they weren't, were they?" shecried. "I never knew they were anything more than plain tabby. "

Jed shook his head. "Nate said they was, " he went on solemnly. "He said they were awful rare. Then she wanted to know would hesell one for five dollars. He said no, he couldn't think of it. "

"Why, the greedy old thing!"

"And so he and she had it back and forth and finally they struck abargain at seven dollars for the one that looked most like a crazyquilt. "

"Seven dollars for a CAT? What color was it, for goodness' sake?"

"Oh, all kinds, seemed so. Black and white and maltee and blue andred and green--"

"Green! What ARE you talking about? Who ever saw a green cat?"

"This woman saw one that was part green and she bought it. Thenshe said she'd take it right along in her car. Said she had afriend that was as loony about cats as she was and she was goin' tofetch her right down the very next day. And a couple of hoursafter she'd gone Nate and his boy came back with a clothes basketwith a board over the top and loaded in the balance of the familyand went off with 'em. I ain't seen a hair of 'em since--no, Iwon't say that quite, but I ain't seen THEM. "

"And didn't he give you any of the seven dollars?"

"No-o. "

"But you had been feeding those kittens and their mother for weeks. "

"Ye-es. "

"But didn't you ASK for anything?"

"We-ll, I told Nate he might maybe leave one of the kittens, so's Icould have a--er--souvenir of the visit, but he wouldn't do it. Said those kittens was rare and--er--precious, or words to thateffect. He didn't intend to let another go as cheap as he had thatone. "

"Oh. . . . I see. I remember now; I heard some one sayingsomething, early in July, about the sign on the Rogers' frontfence. 'Rare Cats for Sale' they said it was. I think. Ofcourse, I never thought of THOSE kittens. He must have sold themall, for the sign isn't there now. "

Jed whistled a few bars. "I don't hardly think he's sold 'em, " hesaid. "I presume likely he's just gone out of the business. "

"I don't see why he shouldn't sell them. Green cats ought to sellquickly enough, I should think. Were they green, honest and truly, Jed?"

Mr. Winslow nodded. 

"They were that mornin', " he drawled, solemnly. 

"That morning? What do you mean?"

"We-ll, you see, Maud, those kittens were into everything and overeverything most of the time. Four of 'em had got in here earlyafore I came downstairs that day and had been playin' hide and hootamongst my paint pots. They was green in spots, sure enough, but Ihad my doubts as to its bein' fast color. "

Maud laughed joyfully over the secret of the green pussies. 

"I wish I might have seen that woman's face after the colors beganto wear off her 'rare' kitten, " she said. 

Jed smiled slightly. "Nathan saw it, " he said. "I understood hehad to take back the kitten and give up the seven dollars. Hedon't hardly speak to me nowadays. Seems to think 'twas my fault. I don't hardly think 'twas, do you?"

Miss Hunniwell's call lasted almost an hour. Besides a generalchat concerning Leander Babbit's voluntary enlistment, the subjectwhich all Orham had discussed since the previous afternoon, she hada fresh bit of news. The government had leased a large section ofland along the bay at East Harniss, the next village to Orham andseven or eight miles distant, and there was to be a militaryaviation camp there. 

"Oh, it's true!" she declared, emphatically. "Father has knownthat the Army people have been thinking of it for some time, but itwas really decided and the leases signed only last Saturday. Theywill begin building the barracks and the buildings--the--oh, whatdo they call those big sheds they keep the aeroplanes in?"

"The hangars, " said Winslow, promptly. 

"Yes, that's it. They will begin building those right away. " Shepaused and looked at him curiously. "How did you know they calledthem hangars, Jed?" she asked. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, I've read about 'em in the newspapers, that'sall. . . . H-u-u-m. . . . So we'll have aeroplanes flyin' aroundhere pretty soon, I suppose. Well, well!"

"Yes. And there'll be lots and lots of the flying men--the what-do-you-call-'ems--aviators, and officers in uniform--and all sorts. What fun! I'm just crazy about uniforms!"

Her eyes snapped. Jed, in his quiet way, seemed excited, too. Hewas gazing absently out of the window as if he saw, in fancy, aprocession of aircraft flying over Orham flats. 

"They'll be flyin' up out there, " he said, musingly. "And I'll see'em--I will. Sho!"

Miss Hunniwell regarded him mischievously. "Jed, " she asked, "would you like to be an aviator?"

Jed's answer was solemnly given. "I'm afraid I shouldn't be muchgood at the job, " he drawled. 

His visitor burst into another laugh. He looked at her over hisglasses. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing; I--I was just thinking of you in a uniform, that'sall. "

Jed smiled his slow, fleeting smile. 

"I guess likely I would be pretty funny, " he admitted. "AnyGermans I met would probably die laughin' and that might help alongsome. "

But after Miss Hunniwell had gone he sat for some minutes gazingout of the window, the wistful, dreamy look on his lean, homelyface. Then he sighed, and resumed his painting. 

That afternoon, about half past five, he was still at his taskwhen, hearing the doorbell ring, he rose and went into the frontshop. To his astonishment the shop was empty. He looked about forthe expected customer or caller, whoever he or she might be, andsaw no one. He stepped to the window and looked out, but there wasno one on the steps or in the yard. He made up his mind that hemust have dreamed of the bell-ringing and was turning back to theinner room, when a voice said:

"Please, are you the windmill man?"

Jed started, turned again, and stared about him. 

"Please, sir, here I am, " said the voice. 

Jed, looking down, instead of up or on a level, saw his visitorthen. That is, he saw a tumbled shock of curls and a pair of biground eyes looking up at him over a stock of weather vanes. 

"Hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise. 

The curls and eyes came out from behind the stack of vanes. Theywere parts of a little girl, and the little girl made him a demurelittle courtesy. 

"How do you do?" she said. 

Jed regarded her in silence for a moment. Then, "Why, I'm fair tomiddlin' smart just at present, " he drawled. "How do YOU findyourself to-day?"

The young lady's answer was prompt and to the point. "I'm nicely, thank you, " she replied, and added: "I was sick at my stomachyesterday, though. "

This bit of personal information being quite unexpected, Mr. Winslow scarcely knew what comment to make in reply to it. 

"Sho!" he exclaimed. "Was you, though?"

"Yes. Mamma says she is 'clined to think it was the two wholebananas and the choc'late creams, but I think it was the friedpotatoes. I was sick twice--no, three times. Please, I asked yousomething. Are you the windmill man?"

Jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over once more. Shewas a pretty little thing, although just at this time it isdoubtful if any of her family or those closely associated with herwould have admitted it. Her face was not too clean, her frock wassoiled and mussed, her curls had been blown into a tangle and therewere smooches, Jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on herhands, around her mouth and even across her small nose. She had adoll, its raiment in about the same condition as her own, tuckedunder one arm. Hat she had none. 

Mr. Winslow inspected her in his accustomed deliberate fashion. 

"Guess you've been havin' a pretty good time, haven't you?" heinquired. 

The small visitor's answer was given with dignity. 

"Yes, " she said. "Will you please tell me if you are the windmillman?"

Jed accepted the snub with outward humility and inward appreciation. 

"Why, yes, " he admitted; "I presume likely I'm the windmill man. Is there anything I can do for you this evenin'?"

Apparently there was, for the child, untucking the doll frombeneath her right arm and tucking it under the left, pointed herright hand at a wooden weather-vane in the shape of a sperm whaleand asked:

"Please, does that fish go 'round?"

"Go 'round? Go 'round where?"

"I mean does it go 'round and 'round on a stick?"

"Cal'late it does when it has a chance. "

"And does it make the wind blow no'theast by no'th and--and likethat?"

"Eh? Make the wind blow--how?"

"I mean does it make the wind blow different ways, no'theast byno'th and cantin' 'round to the sou-east and--and those ways?Captain Hedge has got a fish up on his barn that used to do that, but now it won't 'cause he cal'lates it's rusted fast. He said heguessed he would have to be getting a new one. When I saw thefishes out in your yard I thought about it and I thought I wouldcome in and see if you had the right kind. Is this one a--agunfish?"

"A WHICH fish?"

"A gunfish. No, that isn't it. A--a swordfish, that's it. Captain Hedge's is a swordfish. "

"We-ll, that particular one got a wrong start and ended up by bein'a whale, but I shouldn't wonder if we could find a swordfish if welooked. Yes, here's one. Think that would do?"

The child looked it over very carefully. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think it would. If you're sure it would makethe wind go right. "

"We-ll, I guess likely I could guarantee that fish would go 'mostany way the wind did, unless it should take a notion to blowstraight up and down, which don't happen often. So you know Cap'nHedge, do you? Relation of his, are you? Visitin' there?"

"No. Mamma and I are boarding at Mrs. Smalley's, but I go over tocall on Captain Hedge 'most every day. "

"Sho! Want to know! Well, that's nice and sociable. So you'reboardin' at Luretta Smalley's. My! you're consider'ble ways fromhome, ain't you? Is your mamma with you?"

For the first time the youthful caller's poise seemed a trifleshaken. 

"No-o . . . No, " she stammered, and added, hastily: "How much isthis fish, please?"

"I generally sell that sort of fish for about two dollars. " Helooked out of the window, hummed a tune, and then added: "Let'ssee, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Barbara Armstrong. HOW much did you say thefish was?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, two dollars. "

Miss Armstrong looked very much disappointed. 

"Oh, dear, " she sighed. "I didn't know it would be as much asthat. I--I'm 'fraid I can't get it. "

"So? That's too bad. What was you cal'latin' to do with it, ifyou did get it?"

"I was going to give it to Captain Hedge. He misses his, now thatit's rusted so fast that it won't go. But I can't get it. Ihaven't got but fourteen cents, ten that Mamma gave me this morningfor being a good girl and taking my medicine nice yesterday, andfour that Mrs. Smalley gave me for getting the eggs last week. Andtwo dollars is EVER so much more than fourteen cents, isn't it?"

"Hum. . . . 'Tis a little more, that's right. It's consideredmore by the--um--er--best authorities. Hum . . . Er . . . H-u-u-m. Sometimes, though, I do take off a little somethin' for spot cash. You'd pay spot cash, I presume likely, wouldn't you?"

"I--I don't know what spot cash is. I'd pay fourteen cents. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "We-e-ll, " he drawled, gravely, "I'm afraid Icouldn't hardly knock off all that that comes to. But, " takinganother and much smaller vane from a shelf, "there's an article, not quite so big, that I usually get fifty cents for. What do youthink of that?"

The child took the miniature swordfish and inspected it carefully. 

"It's a baby one, isn't it, " she observed. "Will it tell wind justas good as the big one?"

"Tell wind? Hum! . . . Don't know's I ever heard it put just thatway afore. But a clock tells time, so I suppose there's no reasonwhy a vane shouldn't tell wind. Yes, I guess 'twill tell wind allright. "

"Then I think it might do. " She seemed a little doubtful. "Only, "she added, "fifty cents is lots more than fourteen, isn't it?"

Mr. Winslow admitted that it was. "But I tell you, " he said, afteranother period of reflection, "seein' as it's you I'll make aproposal to you. Cap'n Eri Hedge is a pretty good friend of mine, same as he is of yours. Suppose you and I go in partners. You putin your fourteen cents and I'll put in the rest of the swordfish. Then you can take it to Cap'n Eri and tell him that we're givin' itto him together. You just consider that plan for a minute now, will you?"

Miss Armstrong looked doubtful. 

"I--I don't know as I know what you mean, " she said. "What did youwant me to do?"

"Why, consider the plan. You know what 'consider' means, don'tyou?"

"I know a Mother Goose with it in. That one about the piper andthe cow:

 'He took up his pipes and he played her a tune, Consider, old cow, consider. '

But I don't know as I SURELY know what he wanted the cow to do?Does 'consider' mean see if you like it?"

"That's the idea. Think it over and see if you'd like to go halveswith me givin' the fish to Cap'n Hedge. "

The curls moved vigorously up and down. 

"I think I should, " she decided. 

"Good! Now you wait and I'll do it up. "

He wrapped the toy vane in a piece of paper and handed it to hissmall patron. She gravely produced a miniature velvet purse withthe remnants of some bead fringe hanging to its lower edge and laida dime and four pennies on the top of a packing case between them. It was growing dark in the shop and Jed lighted one of the bracketlamps. Returning, he found the coins laid in a row and MissArmstrong regarding them somewhat soberly. 

"There isn't any MORE than fourteen, is there?" she asked. "Imean--I mean fourteen cents takes all of it, doesn't it?"

Jed looked at her face. His eye twinkled. 

"Well, suppose it didn't?" he asked. "What then?"

She hesitated. "Why, " she stammered, "if--if there was ONE leftover I--maybe I could buy something tomorrow at the candy store. Not to-day, 'cause I told Mamma I wouldn't to-day 'cause I was sickat my stomach yesterday--but to-morrow I could. "

Mr. Winslow carefully counted the coins and then, spreading themout on his big palm, showed them to her. 

"There!" he said. "Now you've given me the fourteen cents. I'vegot 'em, haven't I?"

Miss Barbara solemnly nodded. 

"Yes, " continued Jed. "Now I'll put 'em back in your wallet again. There they are, shut up in the wallet. Now you put the wallet inyour pocket. Now take your fish bundle under your arm. There! noweverything's settled. You've got the fish, haven't you? Sartin'. Yes, and I've been paid for it, haven't I?"

The child stared at him. 

"But--but--" she began. 

"Now--now don't let's argue about it, " pleaded Jed, plaintively. "Argum always gives me the--er--epizootic or somethin'. You saw mehave the money right in my hand. It's all settled; think it overand see if it ain't. You've got the fish and I've HAD the fourteencents. Now run right along home and don't get lost. Good-night. "

He led her gently to the door and closed it behind her. Then, smiling and shaking his head, he returned to the inner shop, wherehe lit the lamps and sat down for another bit of painting beforesupper. But that bit was destined not to be done that night. Hehad scarcely picked up his brush before the doorbell rang oncemore. Returning to the outer room, he found his recent visitor, the swordfish under one arm and the doll under the other, standingin the aisle between the stacked mills and vanes and looking, so itseemed to him, considerably perturbed. 

"Well, well!" he exclaimed. "Back again so soon? What's thematter; forget somethin', did you?"

Miss Armstrong shook her head. 

"No-o, " she said. "But--but--"

"Yes? But what?"

"Don't you think--don't you think it is pretty dark for littlegirls to be out?"

Jed looked at her, stepped to the door, opened it and looked out, and then turned back again. 

"Why, " he admitted, "it is gettin' a little shadowy in the corners, maybe. It will be darker in an hour or so. But you think it's toodark for little girls already, eh?"

She nodded. "I don't think Mamma would like me to be out when it'sso awful dark, " she said. 

"Hum! . . . Hum. . . . Does your mamma know where you are?"

The young lady's toe marked a circle on the shop floor. 

"No-o, " she confessed, "I--I guess she doesn't, not just exactly. "

"I shouldn't be surprised. And so you've come back because you wasafraid, eh?"

She swallowed hard and edged a little nearer to him. 

"No-o, " she declared, stoutly, "I--I wasn't afraid, not very; but--but I thought the--the swordfish was pretty heavy to carry allalone and--and so--"

Jed laughed aloud, something that he rarely did. 

"Good for you, sis!" he exclaimed. "Now you just wait until I getmy hat and we'll carry that heavy fish home together. "

Miss Armstrong looked decidedly happier. 

"Thank you very much, " she said. "And--and, if you please, my nameis Barbara. "

CHAPTER IV

The Smalley residence, where Mrs. Luretta Smalley, relict of thelate Zenas T. , accommodated a few "paying guests, " was nearly amile from the windmill shop and on the Orham "lower road. " Mr. Winslow and his new acquaintance took the short cuts, through by-paths and across fields, and the young lady appeared to havethoroughly recovered from her misgivings concerning the dark--inreality it was scarcely dusk--and her doubts concerning her abilityto carry the "heavy" swordfish without help. At all events sheinsisted upon carrying it alone, telling her companion that shethought perhaps he had better not touch it as it was so very, verybrittle and might get broken, and consoling him by offering topermit him to carry Petunia, which fragrant appellation, itappeared, was the name of the doll. 

"I named her Petunia after a flower, " she explained. "I think shelooks like a flower, don't you?"

If she did it was a wilted one. However, Miss Armstrong did notwait for comment on the part of her escort, but chatted straighton. Jed learned that her mother's name was Mrs. Ruth PhillipsArmstrong. "It used to be Mrs. Seymour Armstrong, but it isn'tnow, because Papa's name was Doctor Seymour Armstrong and he died, you know. " And they lived in a central Connecticut city, butperhaps they weren't going to live there any more because Mamma hadsold the house and didn't know exactly WHAT to do. And they hadbeen in Orham ever since before the Fourth of July, and they likedit EVER so much, it was so quaint and--and "franteek"--

Jed interrupted here. "So quaint and what?" he demanded. 

"Franteek. " Miss Barbara herself seemed a little doubtful of theword. At any rate Mamma said it was something like that, and itmeant they liked it anyway. So Mr. Winslow was left to ponderwhether "antique" or "unique" was intended and to follow his trainof thought wherever it chanced to lead him, while the childprattled on. They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jedcame out of his walking trance to hear her say:

"Anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and the coffeeand THEY are dreadful. Mamma thinks it's made of chickenry--thecoffee, I mean. "

At the gate Jed's "queerness, " or shyness, came upon him. The ideaof meeting Mrs. Armstrong or even the members of the Smalley familyhe shrank from. Barbara invited him to come in, but he refusedeven to accompany her to the door. 

"I'll just run along now, " he said, hurriedly. "Good night. "

The child put out her hand. "Good night, " she said. "Thank youvery much for helping me carry the fish home. I'm coming to seeyou again some day. "

She scampered up the walk. Jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilacbushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw thedoor open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, whocried: "Oh, Babbie, dear, where HAVE you been? Mamma was SOfrightened!"

He smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more than oncethat evening. He was very fond of children and their society didnot embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups--strangers, that is. He remembered portions of Miss Barbara'sconversation and determined to repeat them to Captain SamHunniwell, the next time the latter called. 

And that next time was the following forenoon. Captain Sam, on theway to his office at the bank, stopped his car at the edge of thesidewalk and came into the shop. Jed, having finished paintingwooden sailors for the present, was boxing an assorted collectionof mills and vanes to be sent South, for a certain demand for"Winslow mills" was developing at the winter as well as the summerresorts. It was far from winter yet, but this purchaser wasforehanded. 

"Hello, Jed, " hailed the captain, "busy as usual. You've got thebusy bee a mile astern so far as real hustlin' is concerned. "

Jed took a nail from the half dozen held between his lips andapplied its point to the box top. His sentences for the next fewminutes were mumbled between nails and punctuated with blows of thehammer. 

"The busy bee, " he mumbled, "can sting other folks. He don't getstung much himself. Collectin' honey's easier, I cal'late, thancollectin' money. "

Captain Sam grunted. "Are you stung again?" he demanded. "Who didit this time?"

Jed pointed with the hammer to an envelope lying on a pile ofwooden crows. The captain took up the envelope and inspected itscontents. 

"'We regret to inform you, ' he read aloud, 'that the Funny NoveltyCompany of this town went into bankruptcy a month ago. 

"'JOHN HOLWAY. '"

"Humph!" he sniffed. "That's short and sweet. Owed you somethin', I presume likely?"

Jed nodded. "Seventeen dollars and three cents, " he admitted, between the remaining nails. 

"Sho! Well, if you could get the seventeen dollars you'd throw offthe three cents, wouldn't you?"

"No-o. "

"You wouldn't? Why not?"

Jed pried a crookedly driven nail out again and substituted a freshone. 

"Can't afford to, " he drawled. "That's the part I'll probablyget. "

"Guess you're right. Who's this John Holway?"

"Eh. . . . Why, when he ordered the mills of me last summer he waspresident of the Funny Novelty Company up there to Manchester. "

"Good Lord! Well, I admire his nerve. How did you come to sellthese--er--Funny folks, in the first place?"

Mr. Winslow looked surprised. 

"Why, they wrote and sent an order, " he replied. 

"Did, eh? And you didn't think of lookin' 'em up to see whetherthey was good for anything or good for nothin'? Just sailed in andhurried off the stuff, I presume likely?"

Jed nodded. "Why--why, yes, of course, " he said. "You see, theysaid they wanted it right away. "

His friend groaned. "Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "How manytimes have I told you to let me look up credits for you when youget an order from a stranger? Well, there's no use talkin' to you. Give me this letter. I'll see what I can squeeze out of your Funnyfriend. . . . But, say, " he added, "I can't stop but a minute, andI ran in to ask you if you'd changed your mind about rentin' theold house here. If you have, I believe I've got a good tenant foryou. "

Jed looked troubled. He laid down the hammer and took the lastnail from his mouth. 

"Now--now, Sam, " he began, "you know--"

"Oh, I know you've set your thick head dead against rentin' it atall, but that's silly, as I've told you a thousand times. Thehouse is empty and it doesn't do any house good to stay empty. Course if 'twas anybody but you, Jed Winslow, you'd live in ityourself instead of campin' out in this shack here. "

Jed sat down on the box he had just nailed and, taking one long legbetween his big hands, pulled its knee up until he could haverested his chin upon it without much inconvenience. 

"I know, Sam, " he drawled gravely, "but that's the trouble--I ain'tbeen anybody but me for forty-five years. "

The captain smiled, in spite of his impatience. "And you won't beanybody else for the next forty-five, " he said, "I know that. Butall the same, bein' a practical, more or less sane man myself, itmakes me nervous to see a nice, attractive, comfortable littlehouse standin' idle while the feller that owns it eats and sleepsin a two-by-four sawmill, so to speak. And, not only that, butwon't let anybody else live in the house, either. I call that adog in the manger business, and crazy besides. "

The big foot at the end of the long leg swung slowly back andforth. Mr. Winslow looked absently at the roof. 

"DON'T look like that!" snapped Captain Sam. "Come out of it!Wake up! It always gives me the fidgets to see you settin' gapin'at nothin'. What are you daydreamin' about now, eh?"

Jed turned and gazed over his spectacles. 

"I was thinkin', " he observed, "that most likely that dog himselfwas crazy. If he wasn't he wouldn't have got into the manger. Inever saw a dog that wanted to climb into a manger, did you, Sam?"

"Oh, confound the manger and the dog, too! Look here, Jed; if Ifound you a good tenant would you rent 'em that house of yours?"

Jed looked more troubled than ever. 

"Sam, " he began, "you know I'd do 'most anything to oblige you, but--"

"Oblige me! This ain't to oblige me. It's to oblige you. "

"Oh, then I won't do it. "

"Well, then, 'tis to oblige me. It'll oblige me to have you showsome sense. Come on, Jed. These people I've got in mind are nicepeople. They want to find a little house and they've come to me atthe bank for advice about findin' it. It's a chance for you, areal chance. "

Jed rocked back and forth. He looked genuinely worried. 

"Who are they?" he asked, after a moment

"Can't name any names yet. "

Another period of reflection. Then: "City folks or Orham folks?"inquired Mr. Winslow. 

"City folks. "

Some of the worried look disappeared. Jed was plainly relieved andmore hopeful. 

"Oh, then they won't want it, " he declared. "City folks want tohire houses in the spring, not along as late in the summer asthis. "

"These people do. They're thinkin' of livin' here in Orham all theyear round. It's a first-rate chance for you, Jed. Course, I knowyou don't really need the money, perhaps, but--well, to be realhonest, I want these folks to stay in Orham--they're the kind offolks the town needs--and I want 'em contented. I think they wouldbe contented in your house. You let those Davidsons from Chicagohave the place that summer, but you've never let anybody so much asconsider it since. What's the real reason? You've told me as muchas a dozen, but I'll bet anything you've never told me the realone. 'Twas somethin' the Davidsons did you didn't like--but what?"

Jed's rocking back and forth on the box became almost energetic andhis troubled expression more than ever apparent. 

"Now--now, Sam, " he begged, "I've told you all about that ever andever so many times. There wasn't anything, really. "

"There was, too. What was it?"

Jed suffered in silence for two or three minutes. 

"What was the real reason? Out with it, " persisted CaptainHunniwell. 

"Well--well, 'twas--'twas--" desperately, "'twas the squeakin' and--and squealin'. "

"Squeakin' and squealin'? Gracious king! What are you talkin'about?"

"Why--the--the mills, you know. The mills and vanes outside on--onthe posts and the fence. They squeaked and--and sometimes theysquealed awful. And he didn't like it. "

"Who didn't?"

"Colonel Davidson. He said they'd got to stop makin' that noiseand I said I'd oil 'em every day. And--and I forgot it. "

"Yes--well, I ain't surprised to death, exactly. What then?"

"Well--well, you see, they were squealin' worse than usual onemornin' and Colonel Davidson he came in here and--and I rememberedI hadn't oiled 'em for three days. And I--I said how horrible thesquealin' was and that I'd oil 'em right away and--and--"

"Well, go on! go on!"

"And when I went out to do it there wasn't any wind and the millswasn't goin' at all. You see, 'twas his oldest daughter takin' hersingin' lessons in the house with the window open. "

Captain Sam put back his head and shouted. Jed looked sadly at thefloor. When the captain could speak he asked:

"And you mean to tell me that was the reason you wouldn't let thehouse again?"

"Er--why, yes. "

"I know better. You didn't have any row with the Davidsons. Youcouldn't row with anybody, anyhow; and besides the Colonel himselftold me they would have taken the house the very next summer butyou wouldn't rent it to 'em. And you mean to say that yarn you'vejust spun was the reason?"

"Why--yes. "

"Rubbish! You've told me a dozen reasons afore, but I'm bound tosay this is the most foolish yet. All right, keep the real reasonto yourself, then. But I tell you what I'm goin' to do to get evenwith you: I'm goin' to send these folks down to look at your houseand I shan't tell you who they are or when they're comin'. "

The knee slipped down from Mr. Winslow's grasp and his foot struckthe floor with a crash. He made a frantic clutch at his friend'sarm. 

"Oh, now, Sam, " he cried, in horror, "don't do that! Don't talkso! You don't mean it! Come here! . . . Sam!"

But the captain was at the door. "You bet I mean it!" he declared. "Keep your weather eye peeled, Jed. They'll be comin' 'most anytime now. And if you have ANY sense you'll let 'em the house. Solong!"

He drove away in his little car. Jed Winslow, left standing in theshop doorway, staring after him, groaned in anxious foreboding. 

He groaned a good many times during the next few hours. Each timethe bell rang announcing the arrival of a visitor he rose to answerit perfectly sure that here were the would-be tenants whom hisfriend, in the mistaken kindness of his heart, was sending to him. Not that he had the slightest idea of renting his old home, but hedreaded the ordeal of refusing. In fact he was not sure that hecould refuse, not sure that he could invent a believable excuse fordoing so. Another person would not have sought excuses, would havedeclared simply that the property was not for rent, but Jed Winslowwas not that other person; he was himself, and ordinary methods ofprocedure were not his. 

Two or three groups of customers came in, purchased and departed. Captain Jerry Burgess dropped in to bring the Winslow mail, whichin this case consisted of an order, a bill and a circular settingforth the transcendent healing qualities of African Balm, the Foeof Rheumatism. Mr. Bearse happened in to discuss the great news ofthe proposed aviation camp and to tell with gusto and detail howPhineas Babbitt had met Captain Hunniwell "right square in front ofthe bank" and had not spoken to him. "No, sir, never said a wordto him no more'n if he wan't there. What do you think of that?And they say Leander wrote his dad that he thought he was goin' tolike soldierin' fust-rate, and Mrs. Sarah Mary Babbitt she toldMelissa Busteed that her husband's language when he read that wassomethin' sinful. She said she never was more thankful that theyhad lightnin' rods on the roof, 'cause such talk as that was enoughto fetch down fire from heaven. "

CHAPTER V

It was nearly noon when Jed, entering the front shop in answer tothe bell, found there the couple the sight of which caused hisheart to sink. Here they were, the house hunters--there was nodoubt of it in his mind. The man was short and broad andprotuberant and pompous. The woman possessed all the last threequalities, besides being tall. He shone with prosperity andsunburn, she reeked of riches and talcum. They were just the sortof people who would insist upon hiring a house that was not in themarket; its not being in the market would, in their eyes, make itall the more desirable. 

Jed had seen them before, knew they were staying at the hotel andthat their names were Powless. He remembered now, with a thrill ofalarm, that Mr. Bearse had recently spoken of them as liking Orhamvery much and considering getting a place of their own. And ofcourse Captain Sam, hearing this, had told them of the Winslowplace, had sent them to him. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" thought Jed, although what he said was: "Good mornin'. "

He might as well have said nothing. Mrs. Powless, looming largebetween the piles of mills and vanes, like a battleship in a narrowchannel, was loftily inspecting the stock through her lorgnette. Her husband, his walking stick under his arm and his hands in hispockets, was not even making the pretense of being interested; hewas staring through the seaward window toward the yard and the oldhouse. 

"These are really quite extraordinary, " the lady announced, after amoment. "George, you really should see these extraordinarythings. "

George was, evidently, not interested. He continued to look out ofthe window. 

"What are they?" he asked, without turning. 

"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of queer dolls and boats--andcreatures, made of wood. Like those outside, you know--er--teetotums, windmills. Do come and look at them. "

Mr. Powless did not comply. He said "Umph" and that was all. 

"George, " repeated Mrs. Powless, "do you hear me? Come and look atthem. "

And George came. One might have inferred that, when his wife spokelike that, he usually came. He treated a wooden porpoise to athoroughly wooden stare and repeated his remark of "Umph!"

"Aren't they extraordinary!" exclaimed his wife. "Does this manmake them himself, I wonder?"

She seemed to be addressing her husband, so Jed did not answer. 

"Do you?" demanded Mr. Powless. 

"Yes, " replied Jed. 

Mrs. Powless said "Fancy!" Mr. Powless strolled back to thewindow. 

"This view is all right, Mollie, " he observed. "Better even thanit is from the street. Come and see. "

Mrs. Powless went and saw. Jed stood still and stared miserably. 

"Rather attractive, on the whole, don't you think, dear?" inquiredthe gentleman. "Must be very decent in the yard there. "

The lady did not reply, but she opened the door and went out, around the corner of the shop and into the back yard. Her husbandtrotted after her. The owner of the property, gazing patheticallythrough the window, saw them wandering about the premises, lookingoff at the view, up into the trees, and finally trying the door ofthe old house and peeping in between the slats of the closedblinds. Then they came strolling back to the shop. Jed, drawing along breath, prepared to face the ordeal. 

Mrs. Powless entered the shop. Mr. Powless remained by the door. He spoke first. 

"You own all this?" he asked, indicating the surrounding countrywith a wave of his cane. Jed nodded. 

"That house, too?" waving the point of the cane toward the Winslowcottage. 

"Yes. "

"How old is it?"

Jed stammered that he guessed likely it was about a hundred yearsold or such matter. 

"Umph! Furniture old, too?"

"Yes, I cal'late most of it is. "

"Nobody living in it?"

"No-o. "

"Got the key to it?"

Here was the question direct. If he answered in the affirmativethe next utterance of the Powless man would be a command to beshown the interior of the house. Jed was certain of it, he couldsee it in the man's eye. What was infinitely more important, hecould see it in the lady's eye. He hesitated. 

"Got the key to it?" repeated Mr. Powless. 

Jed swallowed. 

"No-o, " he faltered, "I--I guess not. "

"You GUESS not. Don't you know whether you've got it or not?"

"No. I mean yes. I know I ain't. "

"Where is it; lost?"

The key was usually lost, that is to say, Jed was accustomed tohunt for fifteen minutes before finding it, so, his consciencebacking his inclination, he replied that he cal'lated it must be. 

"Umph!" grunted Powless. "How do you get into the house without akey?"

Jed rubbed his chin, swallowed hard, and drawled that he didn'tvery often. 

"You do sometimes, don't you?"

The best answer that the harassed windmill maker could summon wasthat he didn't know. The red-faced gentleman stared at him inindignant amazement. 

"You don't KNOW?" he repeated. "Which don't you know, whether yougo into the house at all, or how you get in without a key?"

"Yes, --er--er--that's it. "

Mr. Powless breathed deeply. "Well, I'll be damned!" he declared, with conviction. 

His wife did not contradict his assertion, but she made one of herown. 

"George, " she commanded majestically, "can't you see the man hasbeen drinking. Probably he doesn't own the place at all. Don'twaste another moment on him. We will come back later, when thereal owner is in. Come!"

George came and they both went. Mr. Winslow wiped his perspiringforehead on a piece of wrapping paper and sat down upon a box torecover. Recovery, however, was by no means rapid or complete. They had gone, but they were coming back again; and what should hesay to them then? Very likely Captain Sam, who had sent them inthe first place, would return with them. And Captain Sam knew thatthe key was not really lost. Jed's satisfaction in the fact thathe had escaped tenantless so far was nullified by the fear that hisfreedom was but temporary. 

He cooked his dinner, but ate little. After washing the dishes hecrossed the road to the telephone and telegraph office and calledup the Orham Bank. He meant to get Captain Hunniwell on the wire, tell him that the house hunters had paid him a visit, that he didnot like them, and beg the captain to call them off the scent. ButCaptain Sam had motored to Ostable to attend a preliminary sessionof the Exemption Board. Jed sauntered gloomily back to the shop. When he opened the door and entered he was greeted by a familiarvoice, which said:

"Here he is, Mamma. Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow. "

Jed started, turned, and found Miss Barbara Armstrong beaming up athim. The young lady's attire and general appearance were in markedcontrast to those of the previous evening. Petunia also was incalling costume; save for the trifling lack of one eye and a chipfrom the end of her nose, she would have been an ornament to dollsociety anywhere. 

"This is my mamma, " announced Barbara. "She's come to see you. "

"How do you do, Mr. Winslow?" said Mrs. Armstrong. 

Jed looked up to find her standing beside him, her hand extended. Beside a general impression that she was young and that her gownand hat and shoes were white, he was at that moment too greatlyembarrassed to notice much concerning her appearance. Probably hedid not notice even this until later. However, he took her hand, moved it up and down, dropped it again and said: "I--I'm pleased tomeet you, ma'am. "

She smiled. "And I am very glad to meet you, " she said. "It wasvery kind of you to bring my little girl home last night and sheand I have come to thank you for doing it. "

Jed was more embarrassed than ever. 

"Sho, sho!" he protested; "'twasn't anything. "

"Oh, yes, it was; it was a great deal. I was getting very worried, almost frightened. She had been gone ever since luncheon--dinner, I mean--and I had no idea where. She's a pretty good little girl, generally speaking, " drawing the child close and smiling down uponher, "but sometimes she is heedless and forgets. Yesterday sheforgot, didn't you, dear?"

Barbara shook her head. 

"I didn't forget, " she said. "I mean I only forgot a little. Petunia forgot almost EVERYTHING. I forgot and went as far as thebridge, but she forgot all the way to the clam field. "

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"The which field?" he drawled. 

"The clam field. The place where Mrs. Smalley's fish man unplantsthe clams she makes the chowder of. He does it with a sort of hoething and puts them in a pail. He was doing it yesterday; I sawhim. "

Jed's eyes twinkled at the word "unplants, " but another thoughtoccurred to him. 

"You wasn't out on those clam flats alone, was you?" he asked, addressing Barbara. 

She nodded. "Petunia and I went all alone, " she said. "It waskind of wet so we took off our shoes and stockings and paddled. I--I don't know's I remembered to tell you that part, Mamma, " sheadded, hastily. "I--I guess it must have slipped my mind. "

But Mrs. Armstrong was watching Jed's face. 

"Was there any danger?" she asked, quickly. 

Jed hesitated before answering. "Why, " he drawled, "I--I don'tknow as there was, but--well, the tide comes in kind of slow off ONthe flats, but it's liable to fill up the channels between them andthe beach some faster. Course if you know the wadin' places it'sall right, but if you don't it's--well, it's sort of uncomfortable, that's all. "

The lady's cheeks paled a bit, but she did not exclaim, nor as Jedwould have said "make a fuss. " She said, simply, "Thank you, Iwill remember, " and that was the only reference she made to thesubject of the "clam field. "

Miss Barbara, to whom the events of dead yesterdays were of noparticular concern compared to those of the vital and living to-day, was rummaging among the stock. 

"Mamma, " she cried, excitedly, "here is a whale fish like the one Iwas going to buy for Captain Hedge. Come and see it. "

Mrs. Armstrong came and was much interested. She asked Jedquestions concerning the "whale fish" and others of his creations. At first his replies were brief and monosyllabic, but graduallythey became more lengthy, until, without being aware of it, he wascarrying on his share of a real conversation. Of course, hehesitated and paused and drawled, but he always did that, even whentalking with Captain Sam Hunniwell. 

He took down and exhibited his wares one by one. Barbara askednumberless questions concerning each and chattered like a redsquirrel. Her mother showed such a genuine interest in his workand was so pleasant and quiet and friendly, was, in short, such amarked contrast to Mrs. George Powless, that he found himselfactually beginning to enjoy the visit. Usually he was glad whensummer folks finished their looking and buying and went away; butnow, when Mrs. Armstrong glanced at the clock on the shelf, he wassecretly glad that that clock had not gone for over four months andhad providentially stopped going at a quarter after three. 

He took them into the inner shop, his workroom, and showed them theband saw and the lathe and the rest of his manufacturing outfit. Barbara asked if he lived there all alone and he said he did. 

"I live out there, " he explained, pointing toward the shopextension. "Got a sittin'-room and a kitchen out there, and alittle upstairs, where I sleep. "

Mrs. Armstrong seemed surprised. "Why!" she exclaimed, "I thoughtyou lived in that dear little old house next door here. I was toldthat you owned it. "

Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am, " he said, "I do own it, but I don't livein it. I used to live there, but I ain't for quite a spell now. "

"I don't see how you could bear to give it up. It looks so quaintand homey, and if the inside is as delightful as the outside itmust be quite wonderful. And the view is the best in town, isn'tit?"

Jed was pleased. "Why, yes, ma'am, 'tis pretty good, " he admitted. "Anyhow, most folks seem to cal'late 'tis. Wouldn't you like tocome out and look at it?"

Barbara clapped her hands. "Oh, yes, Mamma, do!" she cried. 

Her mother hesitated. "I don't know that we ought to trouble Mr. Winslow, " she said. "He is busy, you know. "

Jed protested. "It won't be a mite of trouble, " he declared. "Besides, it ain't healthy to work too long at a stretch. Thatis, " he drawled, "folks say 'tain't, so I never take the risk. "

Mrs. Armstrong smiled and followed him out into the yard, whereMiss Barbara had already preceded them. The view over the edge ofthe bluff was glorious and the grass in the yard was green, theflowers bright and pretty and the shadows of the tall lilac bushesby the back door of the little white house cool and inviting. 

Barbara danced along the bluff edge, looking down at the dories andnets on the beach below. Her mother sighed softly. 

"It is lovely!" she said. Then, turning to look at the littlehouse, she added, "And it was your old home, I suppose. "

Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am, " he replied. "I was born in that houseand lived there all my life up to five years ago. "

"And then you gave it up. Why? . . . Please forgive me. I didn'tmean to be curious. "

"Oh, that's all right, ma'am. Nothin' secret about it. My motherdied and I didn't seem to care about livin' there alone, that'sall. "

"I see. I understand. "

She looked as if she did understand, and Jed, the seldomunderstood, experienced an unusual pleasure. The sensationproduced an unusual result. 

"It's a kind of cute and old-fashioned house inside, " he observed. "Maybe you'd like to go in and look around; would you?"

She looked very much pleased. "Oh, I should, indeed!" sheexclaimed. "May I?"

Now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry. Ithad been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not havetold why. His visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and, above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of afreak. Under this unaccustomed treatment Jed Winslow had beencaught off his guard--hypnotized, so to speak. And now, when itwas too late, he realized the possible danger. Only a few hoursago he had told Mr. And Mrs. George Powless that the key to thathouse had been lost. 

He paused and hesitated. Mrs. Armstrong noticed his hesitation. 

"Please don't think any more about it, " she said. "It isdelightful here in the yard. Babbie and I will stay here a fewminutes, if we may, and you must go back to your work, Mr. Winslow. "

But Jed, having put his foot in it, was ashamed to withdraw. Hehastened to disclaim any intention of withdrawal. 

"No, no, " he protested. "I don't need to go to work, not yetanyhow. I should be real pleased to show you the house, ma'am. You wait now and I'll fetch the key. "

Some five minutes later he reappeared with triumph in his eye andthe "lost" key in his hand. 

"Sorry to keep you waitin', ma'am, " he explained. "The key had--er--stole its nest, as you might say. Got it now, though. "

His visitors looked at the key, which was attached by a cord to aslab of wood about the size of half a shingle. Upon one side ofthe slab were lettered in black paint the words HERE IT IS. Barbara's curiosity was aroused. 

"What have you got those letters on there for, Mr. Winslow?" sheasked. "What does it say?"

Jed solemnly read the inscription. "I printed that on there, " heexplained, "so I'd be able to find the key when I wanted it. "

Mrs. Armstrong smiled. "I should think it might help, " sheobserved, evidently much amused. 

Mr. Winslow nodded. "You would think so, " he said, "wouldn't you?Maybe 'twould, too, only 'twas such a plaguey nuisance, towin' thathalf a cord of wood around, that I left it to home last time. Untied the string, you know, and just took the key. The wood andthe string was hangin' up in the right place, but the key wan'tamong those present, as they say in the newspapers. "

"Where was it?" demanded Barbara. 

"Hush, dear, " cautioned her mother. "You mustn't ask so manyquestions. "

"That's all right, ma'am; I don't mind a mite. Where was it?We-ll, 'twas in my pants pocket here, just where I put it lasttime I used it. Naturally enough I shouldn't have thought oflookin' there and I don't know's I'd have found it yet, but Ihappened to shove my hands in my pockets to help me think, andthere 'twas. "

This explanation should have been satisfying, doubtless, butBarbara did not seem to find it wholly so. 

"Please may I ask one more question, Mamma?" she pleaded. "Justonly one?"

She asked it before her mother could reply. 

"How does putting your hands in your pockets help you think, Mr. Winslow?" she asked. "I don't see how it would help a bit?"

Jed's eye twinkled, but his reply was solemnly given. 

"Why, you see, " he drawled, "I'm built a good deal like the oldsteam launch Tobias Wixon used to own. Every time Tobias blew thewhistle it used up all the steam and the engine stopped. I've gota head about like that engine; when I want to use it I have to giveall the rest of me a layoff. . . . Here we are, ma'am. Walk rightin, won't you. "

He showed them through room after room of the little house, openingthe closed shutters so that the afternoon sunlight might stream inand brighten their progress. The rooms were small, but they wereattractive and cosy. The furniture was almost all old mahogany andin remarkably good condition. The rugs were home-made; even thecoverlets of the beds were of the old-fashioned blue and white, woven on the hand looms of our great-grandmothers. Mrs. Armstrongwas enthusiastic. 

"It is like a miniature museum of antiques, " she declared. "Andsuch wonderful antiques, too. You must have been besieged bypeople who wanted to buy them. "

Jed nodded. "Ye-es, " he admitted, "I cal'late there's been noless'n a million antiquers here in the last four or five year. Idon't mean here in the house--I never let 'em in the house--but'round the premises. Got so they kind of swarmed first of everysummer, like June bugs. I got rid of 'em, though, for a spell. "

"Did you; how?"

He rubbed his chin. "Put up a sign by the front door that said:'Beware of Leprosy. ' That kept 'em away while it lasted. "

Mrs. Armstrong laughed merrily. "I should think so, " she said. "But why leprosy, pray?"

"Oh, I was goin' to make it smallpox, but I asked Doctor Parker ifthere was anything worse than smallpox and he said he cal'latedleprosy was about as bad as any disease goin'. It worked finewhile it lasted, but the Board of Health made me take it down; saidthere wan't any leprosy on the premises. I told 'em no, but 'twasa good idea to beware of it anyhow, and I'd put up the sign just ongeneral principles. No use; they hadn't much use for principles, general or otherwise, seemed so. "

The lady commented on the neatness and order in the little rooms. They were in marked contrast to the workshop. "I suppose you havea woman come here to clean and sweep, " she said. 

Jed shook his head. 

"No-o, " he answered. "I generally cal'late to come in every littlewhile and clean up. Mother was always a great one for keepin'things slicked up, " he added, apologetically, "and I--I kind oflike to think 'twould please her. Foolish, I presume likely, but--well, foolish things seem to come natural to me. Got a kind of agift for 'em, as you might say. I . . . "

He lapsed into silence, his sentence only begun. Mrs. Armstrong, looking up, found him gazing at her with the absent, far-off lookthat his closest associates knew so well. She had not met itbefore and found it rather embarrassing, especially as it kept onand on. 

"Well?" she asked, after a time. He started and awoke torealities. 

"I was just thinkin', " he explained, "that you was the only womanthat has been in this house since the summer I let it to theDavidson folks. And Mrs. Davidson wan't a mite like you. "

That was true enough. Mrs. Davidson had been a plump elderlymatron with gray hair, a rather rasping voice and a somewhataggressive manner. Mrs. Armstrong was young and slim, her hair andeyes were dark, her manner refined and her voice low and gentle. And, if Jed had been in the habit of noticing such things, he mighthave noticed that she was pleasant to look at. Perhaps he wasconscious of this fact, but, if so, it was only in a vague, generalway. 

His gaze wandered to Barbara, who, with Petunia, was curled up in abig old-fashioned rocker. 

"And a child, too, " he mused. "I don't know when there's been achild in here. Not since I was one, I guess likely, and that's toolong ago for anybody to remember single-handed. "

But Mrs. Armstrong was interested in his previous remark. 

"You have let others occupy this house then?" she asked. 

"Yes, ma'am, one summer I did. Let it furnished to some folks nameof Davidson, from Chicago. "

"And you haven't rented it since?"

"No, ma'am, not but that once. "

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: "I am surprised thatit hasn't been occupied always. Do you ask such a VERY high rent, Mr. Winslow?"

Jed looked doubtful. "Why, no, ma'am, " he answered. "I didn'tcal'late 'twas so very high, considerin' that 'twas just for'summer and furnished and all. The Davidsons paid forty dollars amonth, but--"

"FORTY dollars! A month? And furnished like that? You mean aweek, don't you?"

Mr. Winslow looked at her. The slow smile wandered across hisface. He evidently suspected a joke. 

"Why, no, ma'am, " he drawled. "You see, they was rentin' theplace, not buyin' it. "

"But forty dollars a month is VERY cheap. "

"Is it? Sho! Now you speak of it I remember that Captain Samseemed to cal'late 'twas. He said I ought to have asked a hundred, or some such foolishness. I told him he must have the notion thatI was left out of the sweet ile when they pickled the other thirty-nine thieves. Perhaps you've read the story, ma'am, " he suggested. 

His visitor laughed. "I have read it, " she said. Then she added, plainly more to herself than to him: "But even forty is far toomuch, of course. "

Jed was surprised and a little hurt. 

"Yes--er--yes, ma'am, " he faltered. "Well, I--I was kind of 'fraid'twas, but Colonel Davidson seemed to think 'twas about fair, so--"

"Oh, you misunderstand me. I didn't mean that forty dollars wastoo high a rent. It isn't, it is a very low one. I meant that itwas more than I ought to think of paying. You see, Mr. Winslow, Ihave been thinking that we might live here in Orham, Barbara and I. I like the town; and the people, most of those I have met, havebeen very pleasant and kind. And it is necessary--that is, itseems to me preferable--that we live, for some years at least, awayfrom the city. This little house of yours is perfect. I fell inlove with the outside of it at first sight. Now I find the insideeven more delightful. I"--she hesitated, and then added--"I don'tsuppose you would care to let it unfurnished at--at a lower rate?"

Jed was very much embarrassed. The idea that his caller would makesuch a proposition as this had not occurred to him for a moment. If it had the lost key would almost certainly have remained lost. He liked Mrs. Armstrong even on such short acquaintance, and he hadtaken a real fancy to Barbara; but his prejudice against tenantsremained. He rubbed his chin. 

"Why--why, now, ma'am, " he stammered, "you--you wouldn't likelivin' in Orham all the year 'round, would you?"

"I hope I should. I know I should like it better than living--elsewhere, " with, so it seemed to him, a little shudder. "And Icannot afford to live otherwise than very simply anywhere. I havebeen boarding in Orham for almost three months now and I feel thatI have given it a trial. "

"Yes--yes, ma'am, but summer's considerable more lively than winterhere on the Cape. "

"I have no desire for society. I expect to be quiet and I wish tobe. Mr. Winslow, would you consider letting me occupy this house--unfurnished, of course? I should dearly love to take it just as itis--this furniture is far more fitting for it than mine--but Icannot afford forty dollars a month. Provided you were willing tolet me hire the house of you at all, not for the summer alone butfor all the year, what rent do you think you should charge?"

Jed's embarrassment increased. "Well, now, ma'am, " he faltered, "I--I hope you won't mind my sayin' it, but--but I don't know's Iwant to let this house at all. I--I've had consider'ble manychances to rent it, but--but--"

He could not seem to find a satisfactory ending to the sentence andso left it unfinished. Mrs. Armstrong was evidently muchdisappointed, but she did not give up completely. 

"I see, " she said. "Well, in a way I think I understand. Youprefer the privacy. I think I could promise you that Barbara and Iwould disturb you very little. As to the rent, that would be paidpromptly. "

"Sartin, ma'am, sartin; I know 'twould, but--"

"Won't you think it over? We might even live here for a month, with your furniture undisturbed and at the regular rental. Youcould call it a trial month, if you liked. You could see how youliked us, you know. At the end of that time, " with a smile, "youmight tell us we wouldn't do at all, or, perhaps, then you mightconsider making a more permanent arrangement. Barbara would likeit here, wouldn't you, dear?"

Barbara, who had been listening, nodded excitedly from the bigrocker. "Ever and ever so much, " she declared; "and Petunia wouldjust adore it. "

Poor Jed was greatly perturbed. "Don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong, "he blurted. "Please don't. I--I don't want you to. You--you makeme feel bad. "

"Do I? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say anything to hurt yourfeelings. I beg your pardon. "

"No, you don't. I--I mean you hadn't ought to. You don't hurt myfeelin's; I mean you make me feel bad--wicked--cussed mean--allthat and some more. I know I ought to let you have this house. Any common, decent man with common decent feelin's and sense wouldlet you have it. But, you see, I ain't that kind. I--I'm selfishand--and wicked and--" He waved a big hand in desperation. 

She laughed. "Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Besides, it isn't sodesperate as all that. You certainly are not obliged to rent thehouse unless you want to. "

"But I do want to; that is, I don't, but I know I'd ought to wantto. And if I was goin' to let anybody have it I'd rather 'twouldbe you--honest, I would. And it's the right thing for me to do, Iknow that. That's what bothers me; the trouble's with ME. I don'twant to do the right thing. " He broke off, seemed to reflect andthen asked suddenly:

"Ma'am, do you want to go to heaven when you die?"

The lady was naturally somewhat surprised at the question. "Why, yes, " she replied, "I-- Why, of course I do. "

"There, that's it! Any decent, sensible person would. But I don't. "

Barbara, startled into forgetting that children should be seen andnot heard, uttered a shocked "Oh!"

Jed waved his hand. "You see, " he said, "even that child's moralsare upset by me. I know I ought to want to go to heaven. But whenI see the crowd that KNOW they're goin' there, are sartin of it, the ones from this town, a good many of 'em anyhow; when I hear howthey talk in prayer-meetin' and then see how they act outside ofit, I-- Well, " with a deep sigh, "I want to go where they ain't, that's all. " He paused, and then drawled solemnly, but with asuspicion of the twinkle in his eye: "The general opinion seems tobe that that's where I'll go, so's I don't know's I need to worry. "

Mrs. Armstrong made no comment on this confession. He did not seemto expect any. 

"Ma'am, " he continued, "you see what I mean. The trouble's withme, I ain't made right. I ought to let that house; Sam Hunniwelltold me so this mornin'. But I--I don't want to. Nothin' personalto you, you understand; but . . . Eh? Who's that?"

A step sounded on the walk outside and voices were heard. Jedturned to the door. 

"Customers, I cal'late, " he said. "Make yourselves right to home, ma'am, you and the little girl. I'll be right back. "

He went out through the dining-room into the little hall. Barbara, in the big rocker, looked up over Petunia's head at her mother. 

"Isn't he a funny man, Mamma?" she said. 

Mrs. Armstrong nodded. "Yes, he certainly is, " she admitted. 

"Yes, " the child nodded reflectively. "But I don't believe he'swicked at all. I believe he's real nice, don't you?"

"I'm sure he is, dear. "

"Yes. Petunia and I like him. I think he's what you said ourBridget was, a rough damson. "

"Not damson; diamond, dear. "

"Oh, yes. It was damson preserve Mrs. Smalley had for supper lastnight. I forgot. Petunia told me to say damson; she makes so manymistakes. "

They heard the "rough diamond" returning. He seemed to be in ahurry. When he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked verymuch frightened. 

"What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Armstrong. 

Jed gulped. 

"They've come back, " he whispered. "Godfreys, I forgot 'em, andthey've come back. WHAT'LL I do now?"

"But who--who has come back?"

Mr. Winslow waved both hands. 

"The Old Scratch and his wife, " he declared. "I hope they didn'tsee me, but--Land of love, they're comin' in!"

A majestic tread sounded in the hall, in the dining-room. Mrs. George Powless appeared, severe, overwhelming, with Mr. GeorgePowless in her wake. The former saw Mr. Winslow and fixed him withher glittering eye, as the Ancient Mariner fixed the wedding guest. 

"Ah!" she observed, with majestic irony, "the lost key is found, itwould seem. "

Jed looked guilty. 

"Yes, ma'am, " he faltered. "Er--yes, ma'am. "

"So? And now, I presume, as it is apparent that you do show theinterior of this house to other interested persons, " with a glancelike a sharpened icicle in the direction of the Armstrongs, "perhaps you will show it to my husband and me. "

Jed swallowed hard. 

"Well, ma'am, " he faltered, "I--I'd like to, but--but the fact is, I--"

"Well, what?"

"It ain't my house. "

"Isn't your house? George, " turning to Mr. Powless, "didn't I hearthis man distinctly tell you that this house WAS his?"

George nodded. "Certainly, my dear, " he declared. Then turning toMr. Winslow, he demanded: "What do you mean by saying it is yoursone moment and not yours the next; eh?"

Jed looked around. For one instant his gaze rested upon the faceof Mrs. Armstrong. Then he drew himself up. 

"Because, " he declared, "I've rented it furnished to this ladyhere. And, that bein' the case, it ain't mine just now and I ain'tgot any right to be in it. And, " his voice rising in desperation, "neither has anybody else. "

Mrs. George Powless went a few moments later; before she went sheexpressed her opinion of Mr. Winslow's behavior. Mr. GeorgePowless followed her, expressing his opinion as he went. Theobject of their adjuration sat down upon a rush-bottomed chair andrubbed his chin. 

"Lord!" he exclaimed, with fervor. Mrs. Armstrong looked at him inamazement. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she exclaimed, and burst out laughing. 

Jed groaned. "I know how Jonah felt after the whale unloaded him, "he drawled. "That woman all but had me swallered. If you hadn'tbeen here she would. "

"Jed!" shouted a voice outside. "Jed, where are you?"

Mr. Winslow raised his head. "Eh?" he queried. "That's Samhollerin', ain't it?"

It was Captain Hunniwell and a moment later he entered the littlesitting-room. When he saw who his friend's companions were heseemed greatly surprised. 

"Why, Mrs. Armstrong!" he exclaimed. "Are you here? Now that's afunny thing. The last time I saw Jed I warned him I was goin' tosend you here to look at this house. And you came without bein'sent, after all; eh?"

Jed stared at him. Before the lady could reply he spoke. "What?"he cried. "Was she--Sam Hunniwell, was it HER you was goin' tosend to see about hirin' this house?"

"Sure it was. Why not?"

Jed pointed toward the door. "Then--then who, " he demanded, "sentthose Powlesses here?"

"No one that I know of. And anyhow they don't want to rent anyhouses. They've bought land over at Harnissport and they're goin'to build a house of their own there. "

"They are? They are? Then--then WHAT did that woman say I'd gotto show her the inside of this house for?"

"I don't know. Did she? Oh, I tell you what she was after, probably. Some one had told her about your old furniture andthings, Jed. She's the greatest antique hunter on earth, so theytell me. That's what she was after--antiques. "

Jed, having paused until this had sunk in, groaned. 

"Lord!" he said, again. "And I went and--"

Another groan finished the sentence. 

Mrs. Armstrong came forward. 

"Please don't worry about it, Mr. Winslow, " she said. "I know youdidn't mean it. Of course, knowing your feelings, I shouldn'tthink of taking the house. "

But Jed slowly shook his head. 

"I want you to, " he declared. "Yes, I mean it. I want you to comeand live in this house for a month, anyhow. If you don't, thatPowless woman will come back and buy every stick and rag on theplace. I don't want to sell 'em, but I couldn't say no to her anymore than I could to the Old Harry. I called her the Old Scratch'swife, didn't I, " he added. "Well, I won't take it back. "

Captain Sam laughed uproariously. 

"You ain't very complimentary to Mr. Powless, " he observed. 

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"I would be if I was referrin' to him, " he drawled, "but I judgehe's her second husband. "

CHAPTER VI

Of course Mrs. Armstrong still insisted that, knowing, as she did, Mr. Winslow's prejudice against occupying the position of landlord, she could not think of accepting his offer. "Of course I shallnot, " she declared. "I am flattered to know that you considerBarbara and me preferable to Mr. And Mrs. Powless; but even thereyou may be mistaken, and, beside, why should you feel you mustendure the lesser evil. If I were in your place I shouldn't endureany evil at all. I should keep the house closed and empty, just asyou have been doing. "

Captain Sam shook his head impatiently. "If you was in his place, "he observed, "you would have let it every year. Don't interferewith him, Mrs. Armstrong, for the land sakes. He's showed thefirst streak of common sense about that house that he's showedsince the Davidsons went out. Don't ask him to take it back. "

And Jed stubbornly refused to take it back. "I've let it to youfor a month, ma'am, " he insisted. "It's yours, furniture and all, for a month. You won't sell that Mrs. Powless any of it, willyou?" he added, anxiously. "Any of the furniture, I mean. "

Mrs. Armstrong scarcely knew whether to be amused or indignant. 

"Of course I shouldn't sell it, " she declared. "It wouldn't bemine to sell. "

Jed looked frightened. "Yes, 'twould; yes, 'twould, " he persisted. "That's why I'm lettin' it to you. Then I can't sell it to her; ICAN'T, don't you see?"

Captain Sam grinned. "Fur's that goes, " he suggested, "I don'tsee's you've got to worry, Jed. You don't need to sell it, to heror anybody else, unless you want to. "

But Jed looked dubious. "I suppose Jonah cal'lated he didn't needto be swallowed, " he mused. "You take it, ma'am, for a month, as afavor to me. "

"But how can I--like this? We haven't even settled the question ofrent. And you know nothing whatever about me. "

He seemed to reflect. Then he asked:

"Your daughter don't sing like a windmill, does she?"

Barbara's eyes and mouth opened. "Why, Mamma!" she exclaimed, indignantly. 

"Hush, Babbie. Sing like a--what? I don't understand, Mr. Winslow. "

The captain burst out laughing. "No wonder you don't, ma'am, " hesaid. "It takes the seven wise men of Greece to understand himmost of the time. You leave it to me, Mrs. Armstrong. He and Iwill talk it over together and then you and he can talk to-morrow. But I guess likely you'll have the house, if you want it; Jeddoesn't go back on his word. I always say that for you, don't I, old sawdust?" turning to the gentleman thus nicknamed. 

Jed, humming a mournful hymn, was apparently miles away indreamland. Yet he returned to earth long enough to indulge in amild bit of repartee. "You say 'most everything for me, Sam, " hedrawled, "except when I talk in my sleep. "

Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara left a moment later, the lady sayingthat she and Mr. Winslow would have another interview next day. Barbara gravely shook hands with both men. 

"I and Petunia hope awfully that we are going to live here, Mr. Winslow, " she said, "'specially Petunia. "

Jed regarded her gravely. "Oh, she wants to more'n you do, then, does she?" he asked. 

The child looked doubtful. "No-o, " she admitted, after a moment'sreflection, "but she can't talk, you know, and so she has to hopetwice as hard else I wouldn't know it. Good-by. Oh, I forgot;Captain Hedge liked his swordfish EVER so much. He said it was a--a--oh, yes, humdinger. "

She trotted off after her mother. Captain Hunniwell, after achuckle of appreciation over the "humdinger, " began to tell hisfriend what little he had learned concerning the Armstrongs. Thiswas, of course, merely what Mrs. Armstrong herself had told him andamounted to this: She was a widow whose husband had been aphysician in Middleford, Connecticut. His name was SeymourArmstrong and he had now been dead four years. Mrs. Armstrong andBarbara, the latter an only child, had continued to occupy thehouse at Middleford, but recently the lady had come to feel thatshe could not afford to live there longer, but must find some lessexpensive quarters. 

"She didn't say so, " volunteered Captain Sam, "but I judge she losta good deal of her money, bad investments or somethin' like that. If there's any bad investment anywheres in the neighborhood you can'most generally trust a widow to hunt it up and put her insurancemoney into it. Anyhow, 'twas somethin' like that, for after livin'there a spell, just as she did when her husband was alive, she allat once decides to up anchor and find some cheaper moorin's. Firstoff, though, she decided to spend the summer in a cool place andsome friend, somebody with good, sound judgment, suggests Orham. So she lets her own place in Middleford, comes to Orham, falls inlove with the place--same as any sensible person would naturally, of course--and, havin' spent 'most three months here, decides shewants to spend nine more anyhow. She comes to the bank to cash acheck, she and I get talkin', she tells me what she's lookin' for, I tell her I cal'late I've got a place in my eye that I think mightbe just the thing, and--"

He paused to bite the end from a cigar. His friend finished thesentence for him. 

"And then, " he said, "you, knowin' that I didn't want to let thishouse any time to anybody, naturally sent her down to look at it. "

"No such thing. Course I knew that you'd OUGHT to let the houseand, likin' the looks and ways of these Armstrong folks first rate, I give in that I had made up my mind TO send her down to look atit. But, afore I could do it, the Almighty sent her on His ownhook. Which proves, " he added, with a grin, "that my judgment haspretty good backin' sometimes. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "Careful, Sam, " he drawled, "careful. TheKaiser'll be gettin' jealous of you if you don't look out. Butwhat, " he inquired, "made her and the little girl move out ofMiddleford, or wherever 'twas they lived? They could have foundcheaper quarters there, couldn't they? Course I ain't never beenthere, but seems as if they could. "

"Sartin they could, but the fact of their movin' is what makes mepretty sure the widow's investments had turned sour. It's aplaguey sight easier to begin to cut down and live economical in aplace where nobody knows you than 'tis in one where everybody hasknown you for years. See that, don't you?"

Jed whistled sadly, breaking off in the middle of a bar to replythat he didn't know as he did. 

"I've never cut up, so cuttin' down don't worry me much, " heobserved. "But I presume likely you're right, Sam; you generallyare. " He whistled a moment longer, his gaze apparently fixed upona point in the middle of the white plastered ceiling. Then hesaid, dreamily: "Well, anyhow, 'twon't be but a month. They'll gosomewheres else in a month. "

Captain Sam sniffed. "Bet you a dollar they won't, " he retorted. "Not unless you turn 'em out. And I see you turnin' anybody out. "

But Mr. Winslow looked hopeful. "They'll go when the month's up, "he reiterated. "Nobody could stand me more than a month. Motherused to say so, and she'd known me longer than anybody. "

And so, in this curious fashion, did tenants come to the oldWinslow house. They moved in on the following Monday. Jed saw thewagon with the trunks backing up to the door and he sighed. Thenhe went over to help carry the trunks into the house. 

For the first week he found the situation rather uncomfortable; notas uncomfortable as he had feared, but a trifle embarrassing, nevertheless. His new neighbors were not too neighborly; they didnot do what he would have termed "pester" him by running in and outof the shop at all hours, nor did they continually ask favors. Onthe other hand they did not, like his former tenants, theDavidsons, treat him as if he were some sort of odd wooden image, like one of his own weather vanes, a creature without feelings, tobe displayed and "shown off" when it pleased them and ignored whenit did not. Mrs. Armstrong was always quietly cheerful andfriendly when they met in the yard or about the premises, but sheneither intruded nor patronized. Jed's first impression of her, afavorable one, was strengthened daily. 

"I like her first-rate, " he told Captain Sam. "She ain't toofolksy and she ain't too standoffish. Why, honest truth, Sam, " headded, ingenuously, "she treats me just the same as if I was likethe common run of folks. "

The captain snorted. "Gracious king! Do stop runnin' yourselfdown, " he commanded. "Suppose you are a little mite--er--differentfrom the--well, from the heft of mackerel in the keg, what of it?That's your own private business, ain't it?"

Jed's lip twitched. "I suppose 'tis, " he drawled. "If it wan'tthere wouldn't be so many folks interested in it. "

At first he missed the freedom to which he had accustomed himselfduring his years of solitude, the liberty of preparing for bed withthe doors and windows toward the sea wide open and the shades notdrawn; of strolling out to the well at unearthly hours of the earlymorning singing at the top of his lungs; of washing face and handsin a tin basin on a bench by that well curb instead of withindoors. There were some necessary concessions to convention towhich his attention was called by Captain Hunniwell, who took itupon himself to act as a sort of social mentor. 

"Do you always wash outdoors there?" asked the captain, afterwatching one set of ablutions. 

"Why--er--yes, I 'most generally do in good weather. It's sort of--er--well, sort of cool and roomy, as you might say. "

"Roomy, eh? Gracious king! Well, I should say you needed room. You splash into that basin like a kedge anchor goin' overboard andwhen you come out of it you puff like a grampus comin' up to blow. How do you cal'late Mrs. Armstrong enjoys seein' you do that?"

Jed looked startled and much disturbed. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Why, I never thought about her, Sam. I declare I never did. I--I'llfetch the wash basin inside this very minute. "

And he did. The inconvenience attached to the breaking off of asummer-time habit of years troubled him not half as much as thefear that he might have offended a fellow creature's sensibilities. Jed Winslow was far too sensitive himself and his own feelings hadbeen hurt too many times to make hurting those of another a smalloffense in his eyes. 

But these were minor inconveniences attached to his new position aslandlord. There were recompenses. At work in his shop he couldsee through the window the white-clad, graceful figure of Mrs. Armstrong moving about the yard, sitting with Barbara on the benchby the edge of the bluff, or writing a letter at a table she hadtaken out under the shadow of the silver-leaf tree. Gradually Jedcame to enjoy seeing her there, to see the windows of the old houseopen, to hear voices once more on that side of the shop, and tocatch glimpses of Babbie dancing in and out over the shining micaslab at the door. 

He liked the child when he first met her, but he had been a littlefearful that, as a neighbor, she might trouble him by running inand out of the shop, interfering with his privacy and his work ormaking a small nuisance of herself when he was waiting oncustomers. But she did none of these things, in fact she did notcome into the shop at all and, after the first week had passed, hebegan to wonder why. Late that afternoon, seeing her sitting onthe bench by the bluff edge, her doll in her arms, he came out ofthe door of his little kitchen at the back of the shop and calledher. 

"Good evenin', " he hailed. "Takin' in the view, was you?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes, sir, " she called in reply; "Petunia andI were looking at it. "

"Sho! Well, what do you and-er--What's-her-name think of it?"

Barbara pondered. "We think it's very nice, " she announced, aftera moment. "Don't you like it, Mr. Winslow?"

"Eh? Oh, yes, I like it, I guess. I ain't really had time to lookat it to-day; been too busy. "

The child nodded, sympathetically. "That's too bad, " she said. Jed had, for him, a curious impulse, and acted upon it. 

"Maybe I might come and look at it now, if I was asked, " hesuggested. "Plenty of room on that bench, is there?"

"Oh, yes, sir, there's lots. I don't take much room and Petuniaalmost always sits on my lap. Please come. "

So Jed came and, sitting down upon the bench, looked off at theinlet and the beach and the ocean beyond. It was the scene mostfamiliar to him, one he had seen, under varying weather conditions, through many summers and winters. This very thought was in hismind as he looked at it now. 

After a time he became aware that his companion was speaking. 

"Eh?" he ejaculated, coming out of his reverie. "Did you saysomethin'?"

"Yes, sir, three times. I guess you were thinking, weren't you?"

"Um-m--yes, I shouldn't be surprised. It's one of my bad habits, thinkin' is. "

She looked hard to see if he was smiling, but he was not, and sheaccepted the statement as a serious one. 

"Is thinking a bad habit?" she asked. "I didn't know it was. "

"Cal'late it must be. If it wasn't, more folks would do it. Tellme, now, " he added, changing the subject to avoid further cross-questioning, "do you and your ma like it here?"

The answer was enthusiastic. "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, "we like itever and ever so much. Mamma says it's--" Barbara hesitated, andthen, after what was evidently a severe mental struggle, finishedwith, "she said once it was like paradise after category. "

"After--which?"

The young lady frowned. "It doesn't seem to me, " she observed, slowly, "as if 'category' was what she said. Does 'category' soundright to you, Mr. Winslow?"

Jed looked doubtful. "I shouldn't want to say that it did, rightoffhand like this, " he drawled. 

"No-o. I don't believe it was 'category. ' But I'm almost sure itwas something about a cat, something a cat eats--or does--orsomething. Mew--mouse--milk--" she was wrinkling her forehead andrepeating the words to herself when Mr. Winslow had an inspiration. 

"'Twan't purgatory, was it?" he suggested. 

Miss Barbara's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Purr-gatory, thatwas it, " she declared. "And it was something a cat does--purr, you know; I knew it was. Mamma said living here was paradiseafter purr-gatory. "

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"I cal'late your ma didn't care much for the board at LurettaSmalley's, " he observed. He couldn't help thinking the remark anodd one to make to a child. 

"Oh, I don't think she meant Mrs. Smalley's, " explained Barbara. "She liked Mrs. Smalley's pretty well, well as any one can likeboarding, you know, " this last plainly another quotation. "I thinkshe meant she liked living here so much better than she did livingin Middleford, where we used to be. "

"Hum, " was the only comment Jed made. He was surprised, nevertheless. Judged by what Captain Sam had told him, theArmstrong home at Middleford should have been a pleasant one. Barbara rattled on. 

"I guess that was it, " she observed. "She was sort of talking toherself when she said it. She was writing a letter--to UncleCharlie, I think it was--and I and Petunia asked her if she likedit here and she sort of looked at me without looking, same as youdo sometimes, Mr. Winslow, when you're thinking of something else, and then she said that about the catty--no, the purr-gatory. Andwhen I asked her what purr-gatory meant she said, 'Never mind, 'and. . . . Oh, I forgot!" in consternation; "she told me I mustn'ttell anybody she said it, either. Oh, dear me!"

Jed hastened to reassure her. "Never mind, " he declared, "I'llforget you ever did say it. I'll start in forgettin' now. In fiveminutes or so I'll have forgot two words of it already. By to-morrow mornin' I wouldn't remember it for money. "

"Truly?"

"Truly bluely, lay me down and cut me in twoly. But what's thisyou're sayin' about your ma lookin' at things without seein' 'em, same as I do? She don't do that, does she?"

The young lady nodded. "Yes, " she said; "course not as bad--I meannot as often as you do, but sometimes, 'specially since--" Shehastily clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she exclaimed. 

"What's the matter? Toothache?"

"No. Only I almost told another somethin' I mustn't. "

"Sho! Well, I'm glad you put on the cover just in time. "

"So am I. What else was I talking about? Oh, yes, Mamma'sthinking so hard, same as you do, Mr. Winslow. You know, " sheadded, earnestly, "she acts quite a lot like you sometimes. "

Jed looked at her in horror. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. Then, inhis solemnest drawl, he added, "You tell her to take somethin' forit afore it's too late. "

As he rose from the bench he observed: "Haven't seen you over tothe shop since you moved in. I've been turnin' out another schoolof swordfish and whales, too. Why don't you run in and look 'emover?"

She clapped her hands. "Oh, may I?" she cried. "I've wanted toever and ever so much, but Mamma said not to because it might annoyyou. Wouldn't it annoy you, TRULY?"

"Not a bit. "

"Oh, goody! And might Petunia come, too?"

"Um-hm. Only, " gravely, "she'll have to promise not to talk toomuch. Think she'll promise that? All right; then fetch her along. "

So, the very next morning, when Jed was busy at the bandsaw, he wasnot greatly surprised when the door opened and Miss Barbaraappeared, with Petunia in her arms. He was surprised, however, andnot a little embarrassed when Mrs. Armstrong followed. 

"Good morning, " said the lady, pleasantly. "I came over to makesure that there hadn't been a mistake. You really did ask Babby tocome in and see you at work?"

"Yes, ma'am, I--I did. I did, sartin. "

"And you don't mind having her here? She won't annoy you?"

"Not a mite. Real glad to have her. "

"Very well, then she may stay--an hour, but no longer. Mind, Babby, dear, I am relying on you not to annoy Mr. Winslow. "

So the juvenile visitor stayed her hour and then obediently wentaway, in spite of Jed's urgent invitation to stay longer. She hadasked a good many questions and talked almost continuously, but Mr. Winslow, instead of being bored by her prattle, was surprised tofind how empty and uninteresting the shop seemed after she hadquitted it. 

She came again the next day and the next. By the end of the weekJed had become sufficiently emboldened to ask her mother to permither to come in the afternoon also. This request was the result ofa conspiracy between Barbara and himself. 

"You ask your ma, " urged Jed. "Tell her I say I need you hereafternoons. "

Barbara looked troubled. "But that would be a wrong story, wouldn't it?" she asked. "You don't really need me, you know. "

"Eh? Yes, I do; yes, I do. "

"What for? What shall I tell her you need me for?"

Jed scratched his chin with the tail of a wooden whale. 

"You tell her, " he drawled, after considering for a minute or two, "that I need you to help carry lumber. "

Even a child could not swallow this ridiculous excuse. Barbaraburst out laughing. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. "You don't, either. You know Icouldn't carry lumber; I'm too little. I couldn't carry any butthe littlest, tiny bit. "

Jed nodded, gravely. "Yes, sartin, " he agreed; "that's what I needyou to carry. You run along and tell her so, that's a good girl. "

But she shook her head vigorously. "No, " she declared. "She wouldsay it was silly, and it would be. Besides, you don't really needme at all. You just want Petunia and me for company, same as wewant you. Isn't that it, truly?"

"Um-m. Well, I shouldn't wonder. You can tell her that, if youwant to; I'd just as soon. "

The young lady still hesitated. "No-o, " she said, "because she'dthink perhaps you didn't really want me, but was too polite to sayso. If you asked her yourself, though, I think she'd let me come. "

At first Jed's bashfulness was up in arms at the very idea, but atlength he considered to ask Mrs. Armstrong for the permission. Itwas granted, as soon as the lady was convinced that the desire formore of her daughter's society was a genuine one, and thereafterBarbara visited the windmill shop afternoons as well as mornings. She sat, her doll in her arms, upon a box which she soon came toconsider her own particular and private seat, watching her long-legged friend as he sawed or glued or jointed or painted. He hadlittle waiting on customers to do now, for most of the summerpeople had gone. His small visitor and he had many long and, tothem, interesting conversations. 

Other visitors to the shop, those who knew him well, were surprisedand amused to find him on such confidential and intimate terms witha child. Gabe Bearse, after one short call, reported about townthat crazy Shavin's Winslow had taken up with a young-one justabout as crazy as he was. 

"There she set, " declared Gabriel, "on a box, hugging a broken-nosed doll baby up to her and starin' at me and Shavin's as if wewas some kind of curiosities, as you might say. Well, one of uswas; eh? Haw, haw! She didn't say a word and Shavin's he neversaid nothin' and I felt as if I was preaching in a deef and dumbasylum. Finally, I happened to look at her and I see her lipsmovin'. 'Well, ' says I, 'you CAN talk, can't you, sis, even ifit's only to yourself. What was you talkin' to yourself about, eh?' She didn't seem to want to answer; just sort of reddened up, you know; but I kept right after her. Finally she owned up she wascountin'. 'What was you countin'?' says I. Well, she didn't wantto tell that, neither. Finally I dragged it out of her that shewas countin' how many words I'd said since I started to tell aboutMelissy Busteed and what she said about Luther Small's wife's aunt, the one that's so wheezed up with asthma and Doctor Parker don'tseem to be able to do nothin' to help. 'So you was countin' mywords, was you?' says I. 'Well, that's good business, I must say!How many have I said?' She looked solemn and shook her head. 'Ihad to give it up, ' says she. 'It makes my head ache to count fastvery long. Doesn't it give you a headache to count fast, Mr. Winslow?' Jed, he mumbled some kind of foolishness about somethings givin' him earache. I laughed at the two of 'em. 'Humph!'says I, 'the only kind of aches I have is them in my bones, 'meanin' my rheumatiz, you understand. Shavin's he looked moony upat the roof for about a week and a half, same as he's liable to do, and then he drawled out: 'You see he DOES have headache, Babbie, 'says he. Now did you ever hear such fool talk outside of anasylum? He and that Armstrong kid are well matched. No wonder shesits in there and gapes at him half the day. "

Captain Sam Hunniwell and his daughter were hugely tickled. 

"Jed's got a girl at last, " crowed the captain. "I'd about givenup hope, Jed. I was fearful that the bloom of your youth wouldpass away from you and you wouldn't keep company with anybody. You're so bashful that I know you'd never call on a young woman, but I never figured that one might begin callin' on you. Courseshe's kind of extra young, but she'll grow out of that, give hertime. "

Maud Hunniwell laughed merrily, enjoying Mr. Winslow's confusion. "Oh, the little girl is only the bait, Father, " she declared. "Itis the pretty widow that Jed is fishing for. She'll be callinghere soon, or he'll be calling there. Isn't that true, Jed? Ownup, now. Oh, see him blush, Father! Just see him!"

Jed, of course, denied that he was blushing. His fair tormentorhad no mercy. 

"You must be, " she insisted. "At any rate your face is very, veryred. I'll leave it to Father. Isn't his face red, Father?"

"Red as a flannel lung-protector, " declared Captain Sam, who wasnever known to contradict his only daughter, nor, so reportaffirmed, deny a request of hers. 

"Of course it is, " triumphantly. "And it can't be the heat, because it isn't at all warm here. "

Poor Jed, the long-suffering, was goaded into a mild retort. 

"There's consider'ble hot air in here some spells, " he drawled, mournfully. Miss Hunniwell went away reaffirming her belief thatMr. Winslow's friendship for the daughter was merely a strategicaladvance with the mother as the ultimate objective. 

"You'll see, Father, " she prophesied, mischievously. "We shallhear of his 'keeping company' with Mrs. Armstrong soon. Oh, hecouldn't escape even if he wanted to. These young widows areperfectly irresistible. "

When they were a safe distance from the windmill shop the captaincautioned his daughter. 

"Maud, " he said, "you'd better not tease Jed too much about thatgood-lookin' tenant of his. He's so queer and so bashful that I'mafraid if you do he'll take a notion to turn the Armstrongs outwhen this month's up. "

Miss Hunniwell glanced at him from the corner of her eye. 

"Suppose he does?" she asked. "What of it? She isn't a GREATfriend of yours, is she, Father?"

It was the captain's turn to look embarrassed. 

"No, no, course she ain't, " he declared, hastily. "All I've beenthinkin' is that Jed ought to have a tenant in that house of his, because he needs the money. And from what I've been able to findout about this Mrs. Armstrong she's a real nice genteel sort ofbody, and--and--er--"

"And she's very sweet and very pretty and so, of course, naturally, all the men, especially the middle-aged men--"

Captain Sam interrupted explosively. "Don't be so foolish!" heordered. "If you don't stop talkin' such nonsense I'll--I don'tknow what I'll do to you. What do you suppose her bein' sweet andgood-lookin' has got to do with me? Gracious king! I've got onegood-lookin'--er--that is to say, I've got one young female to takecare of now and that's enough, in all conscience. "

His daughter pinched his arm. 

"Oh, ho!" she observed. "You were going to say she was good-looking and then you changed your mind. Don't you think this youngfemale--WHAT a word! you ought to be ashamed of it--DON'T you thinkshe is good-looking, Daddy, dear?"

She looked provokingly up into his face and he looked fondly downinto hers. 

"Don't you?" she repeated. 

"We-ll, I--I don't know as I'd want to go so far as to say that. Ipresume likely her face might not stop a meetin'-house clock on adark night, but--"

As they were in a secluded spot where a high hedge screened themfrom observation Miss Maud playfully boxed her parent's ears, aproceeding which he seemed to enjoy hugely. 

But there was reason in the captain's caution, nevertheless. MissMaud's "teasing" concerning the widow had set Jed to thinking. The"trial" month was almost up. In a little while he would have togive his decision as to whether the little Winslow house was tocontinue to be occupied by Barbara and her mother, or whether itwas to be, as it had been for years, closed and shuttered tight. He had permitted them to occupy it for that month, on the spur ofthe moment, as the result of a promise made upon impulse, acharacteristic Jed Winslow impulse. Now, however, he must decidein cold blood whether or not it should be theirs for another elevenmonths at least. 

In his conversation with Captain Sam, the conversation which tookplace immediately after the Armstrongs came, he had stoutlymaintained that the latter would not wish to stay longer than themonth, that his own proximity as landlord and neighbor would beunbearable longer than that period. But if the widow found it soshe had so far shown no evidence of her disgust. Apparently thatmeans of breaking off the relationship could not be relied upon. Of course he did not know whether or not she wished to remain, but, if she did, did he wish her to do so? There was nothing personalin the matter; it was merely the question as to whether hisprejudice of years against renting that house to any one was torule or be overthrown. If she asked him for his decision whatshould he say? At night, when he went to bed, his mind was madeup. In the morning when he arose it was unmade. As he toldCaptain Hunniwell: "I'm like that old clock I used to have, Sam. The pendulum of that thing used to work fine, but the handswouldn't move. Same way with me. I tick, tick, tick all day overthis pesky business, but I don't get anywheres. It's always half-past nothin'. "

Captain Sam was hugely disgusted. "It ain't more'n quarter past, if it is that, " he declared, emphatically. "It's just nothin', ifyou ask me. And say, speakin' of askin', I'd like to ask you this:How are you goin' to get 'em out, provided you're fool enough todecide they've got to go? Are you goin' to tell Mrs. Armstrongright up and down and flat-footed that you can't stand any more ofher? I'd like to hear you say it. Let me know when the show'sgoin' to come off. I want a seat in the front row. "

Poor Jed looked aghast at the very idea. His friend laughedderisively and walked off and left him. And the days passed andthe "trial month" drew closer and closer to its end until onemorning he awoke to realize that that end had come; the month wasup that very day. 

He had not mentioned the subject to the widow, nor had she to him. His reasons for not speaking were obvious enough; one was that hedid not know what to say, and the other that he was afraid to sayit. But, as the time approached when the decision must be made, hehad expected that she would speak. And she had not. He saw herdaily, sometimes several times a day. She often came into the shopto find Barbara, who made the workroom a playhouse on rainy orcloudy days, and she talked with him on other topics, but she didnot mention this one. 

It was raining on this particular day, the last day in the "trialmonth, " and Jed, working at his lathe, momentarily expected Barbarato appear, with Petunia under one arm and a bundle of dolls'clothes under the other, to announce casually that, as it was suchbad weather, they had run in to keep him, Mr. Winslow, from gettinglonesome. There was precious little opportunity to be lonesomewhere Babbie was. 

But this morning the child did not come and Jed, wondering what thereason for her absence might be, began to feel vaguelyuncomfortable. Just what was the matter he did not know, but thatthere was something wrong with him, Jed Winslow, was plain. Hecould not seem to keep his mind on his work; he found himselfwandering to the window and looking out into the yard, where thelilac bushes whipped and thrashed in the gusts, the overflowingspouts splashed and gurgled, and the sea beyond the edge of thebluff was a troubled stretch of gray and white, seen throughdiagonal streaks of wind-driven rain. And always when he lookedout of that window he glanced toward the little house next door, hoping to see a small figure, bundled under a big rain coat andsheltered by a big umbrella, dodge out of the door and race acrossthe yard toward the shop. 

But the door remained shut, the little figure did not appear and, except for the fact that the blinds were not closed and that therewas smoke issuing from the chimney of the kitchen, the little housemight have been as empty as it had been the month before. 

Or as it might be next month. The thought came to Jed with ameaning and emphasis which it had not brought before. A strongergust than usual howled around the eaves of the shop, the sashesrattled, the panes were beaten by the flung raindrops which poundeddown in watery sheets to the sills, and Jed suddenly diagnosed hisown case, he knew what was the matter with him--he was lonesome;he, who had lived alone for five years and had hoped to live alonefor the rest of his life, was lonesome. 

He would not admit it, even to himself; it was ridiculous. He wasnot lonesome, he was just a little "blue, " that was all. It wasthe weather; he might have caught a slight cold, perhaps hisbreakfast had not agreed with him. He tried to remember what thatbreakfast had been. It had been eaten in a hurry, he had beenthinking of something else as usual, and, except that it consistedof various odds and ends which he had happened to have on hand, hecould not itemize it with exactness. There had been some coldfried potatoes, and some warmed-over pop-overs which had "slumped"in the cooking, and a doughnut or two and--oh, yes, a saucer ofcanned peaches which had been sitting around for a week and whichhe had eaten to get out of the way. These, with a cup of warmed-over coffee, made up the meal. Jed couldn't see why a breakfast ofthat kind should make him "blue. " And yet he was blue--yes, andthere was no use disguising the fact, he was lonesome. If thatchild would only come, as she generally did, her nonsense mightcheer him up a bit. But she did not come. And if he decided notto permit her mother to occupy the house, she would not come muchmore. Eh? Why, it was the last day of the month! She might nevercome again!

Jed shut off the motor and turned away from the lathe. He sankdown into his little chair, drew his knee up under his chin, andthought, long and seriously. When the knee slid down to its normalposition once more his mind was made up. Mrs. Armstrong mightremain in the little house--for a few months more, at any rate. Even if she insisted upon a year's lease it wouldn't do any greatharm. He would wait until she spoke to him about it and then hewould give his consent. And--and it would please Captain Sam, atany rate. 

He rose and, going to the window, looked out once more across theyard. What he saw astonished him. The back door of the house waspartially open and a man was just coming out. The man, in drippingoil-skins and a sou'wester, was Philander Hardy, the localexpressman. Philander turned and spoke to some one in the housebehind him. Jed opened the shop door a crack and listened. 

"Yes, ma'am, " he heard Hardy say. "I'll be back for 'em about fouro'clock this afternoon. Rain may let up a little mite by thattime, and anyhow, I'll have the covered wagon. Your trunks won'tget wet, ma'am; I'll see to that. "

A minute later Jed, an old sweater thrown over his head andshoulders, darted out of the front door of his shop. The expresswagon with Hardy on the driver's seat was just moving off. Jedcalled after it. 

"Hi, Philander!" he called, raising his voice only a little, forfear of being overheard at the Armstrong house. "Hi, Philander, come here a minute. I want to see you. "

Mr. Hardy looked over his shoulder and then backed his equipageopposite the Winslow gate. 

"Hello, Jedidah Shavin's, " he observed, with a grin. "Didn't knowyou for a minute, with that shawl over your front crimps. What yougot on your mind; anything except sawdust?"

Jed was too much perturbed even to resent the loathed name "Jedidah. "

"Philander, " he whispered, anxiously; "say, Philander, what doesshe want? Mrs. Armstrong, I mean? What is it you're comin' backfor at four o'clock?"

Philander looked down at the earnest face under the ancientsweater. Then he winked, solemnly. 

"Well, I tell you, Shavin's, " he said. "You see, I don't know how'tis, but woman folks always seem to take a terrible shine to me. Now this Mrs. Armstrong here-- Say, she's some peach, ain't she!--she ain't seen me more'n half a dozen times, but here she isbeggin' me to fetch her my photograph. 'It's rainin' pretty hard, to-day, ' I says. 'Won't it do if I fetch it to-morrow?' But no, she--"

Jed held up a protesting hand. "I don't doubt she wants yourphotograph, Philander, " he drawled. "Your kind of face is rare. But I heard you say somethin' about comin' for trunks. Whosetrunks?"

"Whose? Why, hers and the young-one's, I presume likely. 'Twasthem I fetched from Luretta Smalley's. Now she wants me to take'em back there. "

A tremendous gust, driven in from the sea, tore the sweater fromthe Winslow head and shoulders and wrapped it lovingly about one ofthe posts in the yard. Jed did not offer to recover it; hescarcely seemed to know that it was gone. Instead he stood staringat the express driver, while the rain ran down his nose and drippedfrom its tip to his chin. 

"She--she's goin' back to Luretta Smalley's?" he repeated. "She--"

He did not finish the sentence. Instead he turned on his heel andwalked slowly back to the shop. The sweater, wrapped about thepost where, in summer, a wooden sailor brandished his paddles, flapped soggily in the wind. Hardy gazed after him. 

"What in time--?" he exclaimed. Then, raising his voice, hecalled: "Hi, Jed! Jed! You crazy critter! What--Jed, hold on aminute, didn't you know she was goin'? Didn't she tell you? Jed!"

But Jed had entered the shop and closed the door. Philander droveoff, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. 

A few minutes later Mrs. Armstrong, hearing a knock at the reardoor of the Winslow house, opened it to find her landlord standingon the threshold. He was bareheaded and he had no umbrella. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she exclaimed. It was the first time that hehad come to that house of his own accord since she had occupied it. Now he stood there, in the rain, looking at her without speaking. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow, " she said again. "What is it? Come in, won'tyou? You're soaking wet. Come in!"

Jed looked down at the sleeves of his jacket. "Eh?" he drawled, slowly. "Wet? Why, I don't know's I ain't--a little. It's--it'srainin'. "

"Raining! It's pouring. Come in. "

She took him by the arm and led him through the woodshed and intothe kitchen. She would have led him further, into the sitting-room, but he hung back. 

"No, ma'am, no, " he said. "I--I guess I'll stay here, if you don'tmind. "

There was a patter of feet from the sitting-room and Barbara camerunning, Petunia in her arms. At the sight of their visitor'slanky form the child's face brightened. 

"Oh, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. "Did you come to see where Petuniaand I were? Did you?"

Jed looked down at her. "Why--why, I don't know's I didn't, " headmitted. "I--I kind of missed you, I guess. "

"Yes, and we missed you. You see, Mamma said we mustn't go to theshop to-day because-- Oh, Mamma, perhaps he has come to tell youwe won't have to--"

Mrs. Armstrong interrupted. "Hush, Babbie, " she said, quickly. "Itold Barbara not to go to visit you to-day, Mr. Winslow. She hasbeen helping me with the packing. "

Jed swallowed hard. "Packin'?" he repeated. "You've been packin'?Then 'twas true, what Philander Hardy said about your goin' back toLuretta's?"

The lady nodded. "Yes, " she replied. "Our month here ends to-day. Of course you knew that. "

Jed sighed miserably. "Yes, ma'am, " he said, "I knew it, but Ionly just realized it, as you might say. I . . . Hum! . . . Well . . . "

He turned away and walked slowly toward the kitchen door. Barbarawould have followed but her mother laid a detaining hand upon hershoulder. On the threshold of the door between the dining-room andkitchen Jed paused. 

"Ma'am, " he said, hesitatingly, "you--you don't cal'late there'sanything I can do to--to help, is there? Anything in the packin'or movin' or anything like that?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Winslow. The packing was very simple. "

"Er--yes, ma'am. . . . Yes, ma'am. "

He stopped, seemed about to speak again, but evidently changed hismind, for he opened the door and went out into the rain withoutanother word. Barbara, very much surprised and hurt, looked upinto her mother's face. 

"Why, Mamma, " she cried, "has--has he GONE? He didn't say good-byto us or--or anything. He didn't even say he was sorry we weregoing. "

Mrs. Armstrong shook her head. 

"I imagine that is because he isn't sorry, my dear, " she replied. "You must remember that Mr. Winslow didn't really wish to let anyone live in this house. We only came here by--well, by accident. "

But Barbara was unconvinced. 

"He ISN'T glad, " she declared, stoutly. "He doesn't act that waywhen he is glad about things. You see, " she added, with the air ofa Mrs. Methusaleh, "Petunia and I know him better than you do, Mamma; we've had more chances to get--to get acquainted. "

Perhaps an hour later there was another knock at the kitchen door. Mrs. Armstrong, when she opened it, found her landlord standingthere, one of his largest windmills--a toy at least three feethigh--in his arms. He bore it into the kitchen and stood it in themiddle of the floor, holding the mammoth thing, its peaked roofhigh above his head, and peering solemnly out between one of itsarms and its side. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow!" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong. 

"Yes, ma'am, " said Jed. "I--I fetched it for Babbie. I just kindof thought maybe she'd like it. "

Barbara clasped her hands. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, is it for me. "

Jed answered. 

"'Tis, if you want it, " he said. 

"Want it? Why, Mamma, it's one of the very best mills! It's afive dollar one, Mamma!"

Mrs. Armstrong protested. "Oh, I couldn't let you do that, Mr. Winslow, " she declared. "It is much too expensive a present. Andbesides--"

She checked herself just in time. It had been on the tip of hertongue to say that she did not know what they could do with it. Their rooms at Mrs. Smalley's were not large. It was as if adweller in a Harlem flat had been presented with a hippopotamus. 

The maker of the mill looked about him, plainly seeking a place todeposit his burden. 

"'Tisn't anything much, " he said, hastily. "I--I'm real glad foryou to have it. "

He was about to put it on top of the cookstove, in which there wasa roaring fire, but Mrs. Armstrong, by a startled exclamation and afrantic rush, prevented his doing so. So he put it on the tableinstead. Barbara thanked him profusely. She was overjoyed; therewere no comparisons with hippopotami in HER mind. Jed seemedpleased at her appreciation, but he did not smile. Instead hesighed. 

"I--I just thought I wanted her to have it, ma'am, " he said, turning to Mrs. Armstrong. "'Twould keep her from--from forgettin'me altogether, maybe. . . . Not that there's any real reason whyshe should remember me, of course, " he added. 

Barbara was hurt and indignant. 

"Of COURSE I shan't forget you, Mr. Winslow, " she declared. "Neither will Petunia. And neither will Mamma, I know. She feelsawful bad because you don't want us to live here any longer, and--"

"Hush, Babbie, hush!" commanded her mother. Barbara hushed, butshe had said enough. Jed turned a wondering face in theirdirection. He stared without speaking. 

Mrs. Armstrong felt that some one must say something. 

"You mustn't mind what the child says, Mr. Winslow, " she explained, hurriedly. "Of course I realize perfectly that this house is yoursand you certainly have the right to do what you please with yourown. And I have known all the time that we were here merely ontrial. "

Jed lifted a big hand. 

"Er--er--just a minute, ma'am, please, " he begged. "I--I guess mywooden head is beginnin' to splinter or somethin'. Please answerme just this--if--if you'd just as soon: Why are you movin' back toLuretta's?"

It was her turn to look wonderingly at him. "Why, Mr. Winslow, "she said, after a moment's hesitation, "isn't that rather anunnecessary question? When Babbie and I came here it was with theunderstanding that we were to be on trial for a month. We had goneinto no details at all, except that the rent for this one monthshould be forty dollars. You were, as I understood it, to considerthe question of our staying and, if you liked us and liked the ideaof renting the house at all, you were to come to me and discuss thematter. The month is up and you haven't said a word on thesubject. And, knowing what your feelings HAD been, I of courserealized that you did not wish us to remain, and so, of course, weare going. I am sorry, very sorry. Babbie and I love this littlehouse, and we wish you might have cared to have us stay in it, but--"

"Hold on! hold on!" Jed was, for him, almost energetic. "Mrs. Armstrong, ma'am, do you mean to tell me you're goin' back toLuretta Smalley's because you think I don't want you to stay? Isthat it, honest truth?"

"Why, of course, it is. What else?"

"And--and 'tain't because you can't stand me any longer, same asMother used to say?"

"Can't stand you? Your mother used to say? What DO you mean, Mr. Winslow?"

"I mean--I mean you ain't goin' because I used to wash my face outin the yard, and--and holler and sing mornin's and look soeverlastin' homely--and--and be what everybody calls a town crank--and--"

"Mr. Winslow! PLEASE!"

"And--and you and Babbie would stay right here if--if you thought Iwanted you to?"

"Why, of course. But you don't, do you?"

Before Jed could answer the outside door was thrown open withoutknock or preliminary warning, and Captain Sam Hunniwell, drippingwater like a long-haired dog after a bath, strode into the kitchen. 

"Mornin', ma'am, " he said, nodding to Mrs. Armstrong. Then, turning to the maker of windmills: "You're the feller I'm lookin'for, " he declared. "Is what Philander Hardy told me just now true?Is it?"

Jed was dreamily staring out of the window. He was smiling, aseraphic smile. Receiving no reply, Captain Sam angrily repeatedhis question. "Is it true?" he demanded. 

"No-o, no, I guess 'tisn't. I'd know better if I knew what he toldyou. "

"He told me that Mrs. Armstrong here was movin' back to LurettaSmalley's to-day. Jed Winslow, have you been big enough fool--"

Jed held up the big hand. 

"Yes, " he said. "I always am. "

"You always are--what?"

"A big enough fool. Sam, what is a lease?"

"What is a lease?"

"Yes. Never mind tellin' me; show me. Make out a lease of thishouse to Mrs. Armstrong here. "

Mrs. Armstrong was, naturally, rather surprised. 

"Why, Mr. Winslow, " she cried; "what are you talking about? Wehaven't agreed upon rent or--"

"Yes, we have. We've agreed about everything. Er--Babbie, you getyour things on and come on over to the shop. You and I mustn't besittin' 'round here any longer. We've got to get to WORK. "

CHAPTER VII

And so, in as sudden a fashion as he had granted the "month'strial, " did Jed grant the permanent tenure of his property. Thequestion of rent, which might easily have been, with the ordinarysort of landlord, a rock in the channel, turned out to be not evena pebble. Captain Hunniwell, who was handling the businessdetails, including the making out of the lease, was somewhattroubled. 

"But, Jed, " he protested, "you've GOT to listen to me. She won'tpay forty a month, although she agrees with me that for a furnishedhouse in a location like this it's dirt cheap. Of course she'stakin' it for all the year, which does make consider'bledifference, although from May to October, when the summer folks arehere, I could get a hundred and forty a month just as easy as . . . Eh? I believe you ain't heard a word I've been sayin'. Graciousking! If you ain't enough to drive the mate of a cattle boat intogettin' religion! Do you hear me? I say she won't pay--"

Jed, who was sitting before the battered old desk in the corner ofhis workshop, did not look around, but he waved his right hand, thefingers of which held the stump of a pencil, over his shoulder. 

"Ssh-h, sh-h, Sam!" he observed, mildly. "Don't bother me now;please don't, there's a good feller. I'm tryin' to work outsomethin' important. "

"Well, this is important. Or, if it ain't, there's plenty that isimportant waitin' for me up at the bank. I'm handlin' this housebusiness as a favor to you. If you think I've got nothin' else todo you're mistaken. "

Jed nodded, contritely, and turned to face his friend. "I know it, Sam, " he said, "I know it. I haven't got the least mite of excusefor troublin' you. "

"You ain't troublin' me--not that way. All I want of you is to sayyes or no. I tell you Mrs. Armstrong thinks she can't afford topay forty a month. "

"Yes. "

"And perhaps she can't. But you've got your own interests to thinkabout. What shall I do?"

"Yes. "

"YES! What in time are you sayin' yes for?"

"Hum? Eh? Oh, excuse me, Sam; I didn't mean yes, I mean no. "

"Gracious king!"

"Well--er--er--, " desperately, "you told me to say yes or no, so I--"

"See here, Jed Winslow, HAVE you heard what I've been sayin'?"

"Why, no, Sam; honest I ain't. I've run across an idea aboutmakin' a different kind of mill--one like a gull, you know, that'llflap its wings up and down when the wind blows--and--er--I'm afraidmy head is solid full of that and nothin' else. There generallyain't more'n room for one idea in my head, " he added, apologetically. "Sometimes that one gets kind of cramped. "

The captain snorted in disgust. Jed looked repentant and distressed. 

"I'm awful sorry, Sam, " he declared. "But if it's about that houseof mine--rent or anything, you just do whatever Mrs. Armstrong says. "

"Whatever SHE says? Haven't you got anything to say?"

"No, no-o, I don't know's I have. You see, I've settled that sheand Babbie are to have the house for as long as they want it, soit's only fair to let them settle the rest, seems to me. WhateverMrs. Armstrong wants to pay'll be all right. You just leave it toher. "

Captain Sam rose to his feet. 

"I've a dum good mind to, " he declared "'Twould serve you right ifshe paid you ten cents a year. " Then, with a glance of disgust atthe mountain of old letters and papers piled upon the top of thedesk where his friend was at work, he added: "What do you cleanthat desk of yours with--a shovel?"

The slow smile drifted across the Winslow face. "I cal'late that'swhat I should have to use, Sam, " he drawled, "if I ever cleanedit. "

The captain and the widow agreed upon thirty-five dollars a month. It developed that she owned their former house in Middleford andthat the latter had been rented for a very much higher rent. "Myfurniture, " she added, "that which I did not sell when we gave uphousekeeping, is stored with a friend there. I know it isextravagant, my hiring a furnished house, but I'm sure Mr. Winslowwouldn't let this one unfurnished and, besides, it would be a crimeto disturb furniture and rooms which fit each other as these do. And, after all, at the end of a year I may wish to leave Orham. Ofcourse I hope I shall not, but I may. "

Captain Sam would have asked questions concerning her life inMiddleford, in fact he did ask a few, but the answers he receivedwere unsatisfactory. Mrs. Armstrong evidently did not care to talkon the subject. The captain thought her attitude a little odd, butdecided that the tragedy of her husband's death must be the causeof her reticence. Her parting remarks on this occasion furnishedan explanation. 

"If you please, Captain Hunniwell, " she said, "I would rather youdid not tell any one about my having lived in Middleford and myaffairs there. I have told very few people in Orham and I think onthe whole it is better not to. What is the use of having one'spersonal history discussed by strangers?"

She was evidently a trifle embarrassed and confused as she saidthis, for she blushed just a little. Captain Sam decided that theblush was becoming. Also, as he walked back to the bank, hereflected that Jed Winslow's tenant was likely to have her personalhistory and affairs discussed whether she wished it or not. Youngwomen as attractive as she were bound to be discussed, especiallyin a community the size of Orham. And, besides, whoever else shemay have told, she certainly had told him that Middleford hadformerly been her home and he had told Maud and Jed. Of coursethey would say nothing if he asked them, but perhaps they had toldit already. And why should Mrs. Armstrong care, anyway?

"Let folks talk, " he said that evening, in conversation with hisdaughter. "Let 'em talk, that's my motto. When they're lyin'about me I know they ain't lyin' about anybody else, that's somecomfort. But women folks, I cal'late, feel different. "

Maud was interested and a little suspicious. 

"You don't suppose, Pa, " she said, "that this Mrs. Armstrong has apast, do you?"

"A past? What kind of a thing is a past, for thunder sakes?"

"Why, I mean a--a--well, has she done something she doesn't wantother people to know; is she trying to hide something, like--well, as people do in stories?"

"Eh? Oh, in the books! I see. Well, young woman, I cal'late thefirst thing for your dad to do is to find out what sort of booksyou read. A past! Ho, ho! I guess likely Mrs. Armstrong is aplaguey sight more worried about the future than she is about thepast. She has lived the past already, but she's got to live thefuture and pay the bills belongin' to it, and that's no triflin'job in futures like these days. "

Needless to say Jed Winslow did no speculating concerning histenant's "past. " Having settled the question of that tenancydefinitely and, as he figured it, forever, he put the matterentirely out of his mind and centered all his energies upon the newvariety of mill, the gull which was to flap its wings when the windblew. Barbara was, of course, much interested in the working outof this invention, and her questions were many. Occasionally Mrs. Armstrong came into the shop. She and Jed became better acquainted. 

The acquaintanceship developed. Jed formed a daily habit ofstopping at the Armstrong door to ask if there were any errands tobe done downtown. "Goin' right along down on my own account, ma'am, " was his invariable excuse. "Might just as well run yourerrands at the same time. " Also, whenever he chopped a supply ofkindling wood for his own use he chopped as much more and filledthe oilcloth-covered box which stood by the stove in the Armstrongkitchen. He would not come in and sit down, however, in spite ofBarbara's and her mother's urgent invitation; he was always too"busy" for that. 

But the time came when he did come in, actually come in and sitdown to a meal. Barbara, of course, was partially responsible forthis amazing invitation, but it was Heman Taylor's old brindletomcat which really brought it to pass. The cat in question was adisreputable old scalawag, with tattered ears and a scarred hide, souvenirs of fights innumerable, with no beauty and less morals, and named, with appropriate fitness, "Cherub. "

It was a quarter to twelve on a Sunday morning and Jed waspreparing his dinner. The piece de resistance of the dinner was, in this instance, to be a mackerel. Jed had bought the mackerel ofthe fish peddler the previous afternoon and it had been reposing ona plate in the little ancient ice-chest which stood by the backdoor of the Winslow kitchen. Barbara, just back from Sunday schooland arrayed in her best, saw that back door open and decided tocall. Jed, as always, was glad to see her. 

"You're getting dinner, aren't you, Mr. Winslow?" she observed. 

Jed looked at her over his spectacles. "Yes, " he answered. "Unless somethin' happens I'm gettin' dinner. "

His visitor looked puzzled. 

"Why, whatever happened you would be getting dinner just the same, wouldn't you?" she said. "You might not have it, but you'd begetting it, you know. "

Jed took the mackerel out of the ice-chest and put the platecontaining it on the top of the latter. "We-ell, " he drawled, "youcan't always tell. I might take so long gettin' it that, firstthing I knew, 'twould be supper. "

Humming a hymn he took another dish from the ice-chest and placedit beside the mackerel plate. 

"What's that?" inquired Barbara. 

"That? Oh, that's my toppin'-off layer. That's a rice puddin', poor man's puddin', some folks call it. I cal'late your ma'd callit a man's poor puddin', but it makes good enough ballast for acraft like me. " He began singing again. 

 "'I know not, yea, I know not What bliss awaits me there. Di, doo de di di doo de--'"

Breaking off to suggest: "Better stay and eat along with me to-day, hadn't you, Babbie?"

Barbara tried hard not to seem superior. 

"Thank you, " she said, "but I guess I can't. We're going to havechicken and lemon jelly. " Then, remembering her manners, sheadded: "We'd be awful glad if you'd have dinner with us, Mr. Winslow. "

Jed shook his head. 

"Much obliged, " he drawled, "but if I didn't eat that mackerel, whowould?"

The question was answered promptly. While Mr. Winslow and hissmall caller were chatting concerning the former's dinner, anothereager personality was taking a marked interest in a portion of thatdinner. Cherub, the Taylor cat, abroad on a foraging expedition, had scented from his perch upon a nearby fence a delicious andappetizing odor. Following his nose, literally, Cherub descendedfrom the fence and advanced, sniffing as he came. The odor wasfish, fresh fish. Cherub's green eyes blazed, his advance becamecrafty, strategical, determined. He crept to the Winslow backstep, he looked up through the open door, he saw the mackerel uponits plate on the top of the ice-chest. 

"If I didn't eat that mackerel, " drawled Jed, "who would?"

There was a swoop through the air, a scream from Barbara, a crash--two crashes, a momentary glimpse of a brindle cat with a mackerelcrosswise in its mouth and the ends dragging on the ground, arattle of claws on the fence. Then Jed and his visitor were leftto gaze upon a broken plate on the floor, an overturned bowl on topof the ice-chest, and a lumpy rivulet of rice pudding trickling tothe floor. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried Barbara, wringing her hands in consternation. 

Jed surveyed the ruin of the "poor man's pudding" and gazedthoughtfully at the top of the fence over which the marauder haddisappeared. 

"Hum, " he mused. "H-u-u-m. . . . Well, I did cal'late I could geta meal out of sight pretty fast myself, but--but--I ain't in thatcritter's class. "

"But your dinner!" wailed Barbara, almost in tears. "He's spoiledALL your dinner! Oh, the BAD thing! I hate that Cherub cat! IHATE him!"

Mr. Winslow rubbed his chin. "We-e-ll, " he drawled again. "Hedoes seem to have done what you might call a finished job. H-u-u-m! . . . 'Another offensive on the--er--no'theast'ardfront; all objectives attained. ' That's the way the newspaperstell such things nowadays, ain't it? . . . However, there's nouse cryin' over spilt--er--puddin'. Lucky there's eggs and milkaboard the ship. I shan't starve, anyhow. "

Barbara was aghast. "Eggs and milk!" she repeated. "Is THAT allyou've got for Sunday dinner, Mr. Winslow? Why, that's awful!"

Jed smiled and began picking up the fragments of the plate. Hewent to the closet to get a broom and when he came out again theyoung lady had vanished. 

But she was back again in a few minutes, her eyes shining. 

"Mr. Winslow, " she said, "Mamma sent me to ask if you could pleasecome right over to our house. She--she wants to see you. "

Jed regarded her doubtfully. "Wants to see me?" he repeated. "What for?"

The child shook her head; her eyes sparkled more than ever. "I'mnot sure, " she said, "but I think there's something she wants youto do. "

Wondering what the something might be, Jed promised to be over in aminute or two. Barbara danced away, apparently much excited. Mr. Winslow, remembering that it was Sunday, performed a hasty toiletat the sink, combed his hair, put on his coat and walked across theyard. Barbara met him at the side door of the house. 

"Mamma's in the dining-room, " she said. "Come right in, Mr. Winslow. "

So Jed entered the dining-room, to find the table set and ready, with places laid for three instead of two, and Mrs. Armstrongdrawing back one of three chairs. He looked at her. 

"Good mornin', ma'am, " he stammered. "Babbie, she said--er--shesaid there was somethin' you wanted me to do. "

The lady smiled. "There is, " she replied. "Babbie has told mewhat happened to your dinner, and she and I want you to sit rightdown and have dinner with us. We're expecting you, everything isready, and we shall--yes, we shall be hurt if you don't stay. Shan't we, Babbie?"

Barbara nodded vigorously. "Awf'ly, " she declared; "'speciallyPetunia. You will stay, won't you, Mr. Winslow--please?"

Poor Jed! His agitation was great, his embarrassment greater andhis excuses for not accepting the invitation numerous if notconvincing. But at last he yielded and sat reluctantly down to thefirst meal he had eaten in that house for five years. 

Mrs. Armstrong, realizing his embarrassment, did not urge him totalk and Barbara, although she chattered continuously, did not seemto expect answers to her questions. So Jed ate a little, spoke alittle, and thought a great deal. And by the time dinner was oversome of his shyness and awkwardness had worn away. He insistedupon helping with the dishes and, because she saw that he would behurt if she did not, his hostess permitted him to do so. 

"You see, ma'am, " he said, "I've been doin' dishes for aconsider'ble spell, more years than I like to count. I ought to beable to do 'em fair to middlin' well. But, " he added, as much tohimself as to her, "I don't know as that's any sign. There's somany things I ought to be able to do like other folks--and can't. I'm afraid you may not be satisfied, after all, ma'am, " he went on. "I suppose you're a kind of an expert, as you might say. "

She shook her head. "I fear I'm no expert, Mr. Winslow, " sheanswered, just a little sadly, so it seemed to him. "Barbara and Iare learning, that is all. "

"Nora used to do the dishes at home, " put in Barbara. "Mammahardly ever--"

"Hush, dear, " interrupted her mother. "Mr. Winslow wouldn't beinterested. "

After considerable urging Jed consented to sit a while in theliving-room. He was less reluctant to talk by this time and, thewar creeping into the conversation, as it does into allconversations nowadays, they spoke of recent happenings at home andabroad. Mrs. Armstrong was surprised to find how well informed herlandlord was concerning the world struggle, its causes and itsprogress. 

"Why, no, ma'am, " he said, in answer to a remark of hers; "I ain'tread it up much, as I know of, except in the newspapers. I ain'tan educated man. Maybe--" with his slow smile--"maybe you'veguessed as much as that already. "

"I know that you have talked more intelligently on this war thanany one else I have heard since I came to this town, " she declared, emphatically. "Even Captain Hunniwell has never, in my hearing, stated the case against Germany as clearly as you put it just now;and I have heard him talk a good deal. "

Jed was evidently greatly pleased, but he characteristically triednot to show it. "Well, now, ma'am, " he drawled, "I'm afraid youain't been to the post office much mail times. If you'd just dropin there some evenin' and hear Gabe Bearse and Bluey Batcheldorraise hob with the Kaiser you'd understand why the confidence ofthe Allies is unshaken, as the Herald gave out this mornin'. "

A little later he said, reflectively:

"You know, ma'am, it's an astonishin' thing to me, I can't get overit, my sittin' here in this house, eatin' with you folks andtalkin' with you like this. "

Mrs. Armstrong smiled. "I can't see anything so very astonishingabout it, " she said. 

"Can't you?"

"Certainly not. Why shouldn't you do it--often? We are landlordand tenant, you and I, but that is no reason, so far as I can see, why we shouldn't be good neighbors. "

He shook his head. 

"I don't know's you quite understand, ma'am, " he said. "It's yourthinkin' of doin' it, your askin' me and--and WANTIN' to ask methat seems so kind of odd. Do you know, " he added, in a burst ofconfidence, "I don't suppose that, leavin' Sam Hunniwell out, another soul has asked me to eat at their house for ten year. Course I'm far from blamin' 'em for that, you understand, but--"

"Wait. Mr. Winslow, you had tenants in this house before?"

"Yes'm. Davidson, their names was. "

"And did THEY never invite you here?"

Jed looked at her, then away, out of the window. It was a momentor two before he answered. Then--

"Mrs. Armstrong, " he said, "you knew, I cal'late, that I was--er--kind of prejudiced against rentin' anybody this house after theDavidsons left?"

The lady, trying not to smile, nodded. 

"Yes, " she replied, "I--well, I guessed as much. "

"Yes'm, I was. They would have took it again, I'm pretty sartin, if I'd let 'em, but--but somehow I couldn't do it. No, I couldn't, and I never meant anybody else should be here. Seems funny to you, I don't doubt. "

"Why, no, it was your property to do what you pleased with, and Iam sure you had a reason for refusing. "

"Yes'm. But I ain't ever told anybody what that reason was. I'vetold Sam a reason, but 'twan't the real one. I--I guess likelyI'll tell it to you. I imagine 'twill sound foolish enough. 'Twasjust somethin' I heard Colonel Davidson say, that's all. "

He paused. Mrs. Armstrong did not speak. After an interval hecontinued:

"'Twas one day along the last of the season. The Davidsons hadcompany and they'd been in to see the shop and the mills and vanesand one thing or 'nother. They seemed nice, pleasant enough folks;laughed a good deal, but I didn't mind that. I walked out into theyard along with 'em and then, after I left 'em, I stood for aminute on the front step of the shop, with the open door between meand this house here. A minute or so later I heard 'em come intothis very room. They couldn't see me, 'count of the door, but Icould hear them, 'count of the windows bein' open. And then . . . Huh . . . Oh, well. "

He sighed and lapsed into one of his long fits of abstraction. Atlength Mrs. Armstrong ventured to remind him. 

"And then--?" she asked. 

"Eh? Oh, yes, ma'am! Well, then I heard one of the comp'ny say:'I don't wonder you enjoy it here, Ed, ' he says. 'That landlord ofyours is worth all the rent you pay and more. 'Tain't everybodythat has a dime museum right on the premises. ' All hands laughedand then Colonel Davidson said: 'I thought you'd appreciate him, 'he says. 'We'll have another session with him before you leave. Perhaps we can get him into the house here this evenin'. My wifeis pretty good at that, she jollies him along. Oh, he swallows itall; the poor simpleton don't know when he's bein' shown off. '"

Mrs. Armstrong uttered an exclamation. 

"Oh!" she cried. "The brute!"

"Yes'm, " said Jed, quietly, "that was what he said. You see, " withan apologetic twitch of the lip, "it came kind of sudden to me and--and it hurt. Fact is, I--I had noticed he and his wife was--er--well, nice and--er--folksy, as you might say, but I never oncethought they did it for any reason but just because they--well, liked me, maybe. Course I'd ought to have known better. Fineladies and gentlemen like them don't take much fancy to dime museumfolks. "

There was just a trace of bitterness in his tone, the first Mrs. Armstrong had ever noticed there. Involuntarily she leaned towardhim. 

"Don't, Mr. Winslow, " she begged. "Don't think of it again. Theymust have been beasts, those people, and they don't deserve amoment's thought. And DON'T call them ladies and gentlemen. Theonly gentleman there was yourself. "

Jed shook his head. 

"If you said that around the village here, " he drawled, "somebodymight be for havin' you sent to the asylum up to Taunton. CourseI'm much obliged to you, but, honest, you hadn't ought to take therisk. "

Mrs. Armstrong smiled slightly, but hers was a forced smile. Whatshe had just heard, told in her guest's quaint language as astatement of fact and so obviously with no thought of effect, hadtouched her more than any plea for sympathy could have done. Shefelt as if she had a glimpse into this man's simple, trusting, sensitive soul. And with that glimpse came a new feeling towardhim, a feeling of pity--yes, and more than that, a feeling ofgenuine respect. 

He sighed again and rose to go. "I declare, " he said, apologetically, "I don't know what I've been botherin' you with allthis for. As I said, I've never told that yarn to anybody aforeand I never meant to tell it. I--"

But she interrupted him. "Please don't apologize, " she said. "I'mvery glad you told it to me. "

"I cal'late you think it's a queer reason for lettin' this housestand empty all this time. "

"No, I think it was a very good one, and Babbie and I are honoredto know that your estimate of us is sufficiently high to overcomeyour prejudice. "

"Well, ma'am, I--I guess it's goin' to be all right. If you feelyou can get along with me for a landlord I'd ought sartin to bewillin' to have you for tenants. Course I don't blame theDavidsons, in one way, you understand, but--"

"I do. I blame them in every way. They must have been unspeakable. Mr. Winslow, I hope you will consider Babbie and me not merelytenants and neighbors, but friends--real friends. "

Jed did not reply for at least a minute. Then he said: "I'm afraidyou'll be kind of lonesome; my friends are like corn sprouts in ahenyard, few and scatterin'. "

"So much the better; we shall feel that we belong to selectcompany. "

He did not thank her nor answer, but walked slowly on through thedining-room and kitchen, where he opened the door and stepped outupon the grass. There he stood for a moment, gazing at the sky, alternately puckering his lips and opening them, but without sayinga word. Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara, who had followed him, watchedthese facial gymnastics, the lady with astonishment, her daughterwith expectant interest. 

"I know what he is doing that for, Mamma, " she whispered. "It'sbecause he's thinking and don't know whether to whistle or not. When he thinks AWFUL hard he's almost sure to whistle--or sing. "

"Hush, hush, Babbie!"

"Oh, he won't hear us. He hardly ever hears any one when he'sthinking like that. And see, Mamma, he IS going to whistle. "

Sure enough, their guest whistled a few mournful bars, breaking offsuddenly to observe:

"I hope there wan't any bones in it. "

"Bones in what? What do you mean, Mr. Winslow?" queried Mrs. Armstrong, who was puzzled, to say the least. 

"Eh? Oh, I hope there wan't any bones in that mackerel Heman's catgot away with. If there was it might choke or somethin'. "

"Good gracious! I shouldn't worry over that possibility, if I wereyou. I should scarcely blame you for wishing it might choke, afterstealing your dinner. "

Mr. Winslow shook his head. "That wouldn't do, " solemnly. "If itchoked it couldn't ever steal another one. "

"But you don't WANT it to steal another one, do you?"

"We-ll, if every one it stole meant my havin' as good an afternoonas this one's been, I'd--"

He stopped. Barbara ventured to spur him on. 

"You'd what?" she asked. 

"I'd give up whittlin' weather vanes and go mackerel-seinin' forthe critter's benefit. Well--er--good day, ma'am. "

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow. We shall expect you again soon. Youmust be neighborly, for, remember, we are friends now. "

Jed was half way across the yard, but he stopped and turned. 

"My--my FRIENDS generally call me 'Jed, '" he said. Then, his facea bright red, he hurried into the shop and closed the door. 

CHAPTER VIII

After this, having broken the ice, Jed, as Captain Sam Hunniwellmight have expressed it, "kept the channel clear. " When he stoppedat the kitchen door of his tenants' house he no longer invariablyrefused to come in and sit down. When he inquired if Mrs. Armstrong had any errands to be done he also asked if there wereany chores he might help out with. When the old clock--a genuineSeth Willard--on the wall of the living-room refused to go, he camein, sat down, took the refractory timepiece in his arms and, afteran hour of what he called "putterin' and jackleggin', " hung it upagain apparently in as good order as ever. During the process hewhistled a little, sang a hymn or two, and talked with Barbara, whofound the conversation a trifle unsatisfactory. 

"He hardly EVER finished what he was going to say, " she confided toher mother afterward. "He'd start to tell me a story and just ashe got to the most interesting part something about the clock wouldseem to--you know--trouble him and he'd stop and, when he beganagain, he'd be singing instead of talking. I asked him what madehim do it and he said he cal'lated his works must be loose andevery once in a while his speaking trumpet fell down into his musicbox. Isn't he a funny man, Mamma?"

"He is indeed, Babbie. "

"Yes. Petunia and I think he's--he's perfectly scrushe-aking. 'Twas awful nice of him to fix our clock, wasn't it, Mamma. "

"Yes, dear. "

"Yes. And I know why he did it; he told me. 'Twas on Petunia'saccount. He said not to let her know it but he'd takenconsider'ble of a shine to her. I think he's taken a shine to me, don't you, Mamma?"

"I'm sure of it. "

"So am I. And I 'most guess he's taken one to you, too. Anyhow hewatches you such a lot and notices so many things. He asked me to-day if you had been crying. I said no. You hadn't, had you, Mamma?"

Mrs. Armstrong evaded the question by changing the subject. Shedecided she must be more careful in hiding her feelings when herlandlord was about. She had had no idea that he could be soobserving; certainly he did not look it. 

But her resolution was a little late. Jed had made up his mindthat something was troubling his fair tenant. Again and again, nowthat he was coming to know her better and better, he had noticedthe worn, anxious look on her face, and once before the day of theclock repairing he had seen her when it seemed to him that she hadbeen crying. He did not mention his observations or inferences toany one, even Captain Sam, but he was sure he was right. Mrs. Armstrong was worried and anxious and he did not like the idea. Hewished he might help her, but of course he could not. Another man, a normal man, one not looked upon by a portion of the community as"town crank, " might have been able to help, might have known how tooffer his services and perhaps have them accepted, but not he, notJedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow. But he wished he could. She hadasked him to consider her a real friend, and to Jed, who had sofew, a friend was a possession holy and precious. 

Meanwhile the war was tightening its grip upon Orham as upon everycity, town and hamlet in the land. At first it had been a thing toread about in the papers, to cheer for, to keep the flags flying. But it had been far off, unreal. Then came the volunteering, andafter that the draft, and the reality drew a little nearer. Workupon the aviation camp at East Harniss had actually begun. Theoffice buildings were up and the sheds for the workmen. They wereerecting frames for the barracks, so Gabriel Bearse reported. Thesight of a uniform in Orham streets was no longer such a novelty asto bring the population, old and young, to doors and windows. MissMaud Hunniwell laughingly confided to Jed that she was beginning tohave hopes, real hopes, of seeing genuine gold lace some day soon. 

Captain Sam, her father, was busy. Sessions of the Exemption Boardwere not quite as frequent as at first, but the captain declaredthem frequent enough. And volunteering went on steadily here andthere among young blood which, having drawn a low number in thedraft, was too impatient for active service to wait its turn. Gustavus Howes, bookkeeper at the bank, was one example. CaptainSam told Jed about it on one of his calls. 

"Yep, " he said, "Gus has gone, cleared out yesterday afternoon. Goin' to one of the trainin' camps to try to learn to be anofficer. Eh? What did I say to him? Why, I couldn't say nothin', could I, but 'Hurrah' and 'God bless you'? But it's leavin' a badhole in the bank just the same. "

Jed asked if the bank had any one in view to fill that hole. Captain Sam looked doubtful. 

"Well, " he replied, "we've got somebody in view that would like totry and fill it. Barzilla Small was in to see me yesterdayafternoon and he's sartin that his boy Luther--Lute, everybodycalls him--is just the one for the place. He's been to work up inFall River in a bank, so Barzilla says; that would mean he musthave had some experience. Whether he'll do or not I don't know, but he's about the only candidate in sight, these war times. Whatdo you think of him, Jed?"

Jed rubbed his chin. "To fill Gus Howes' place?" he asked. 

"Yes, of course. Didn't think I was figgerin' on makin' himPresident of the United States, did you?"

"Hum! . . . W-e-e-ll. . . . One time when I was a little shaver, Sam, down to the fishhouse, I tried on a pair of Cap'n Jabe Kelly'srubber boots. You remember Cap'n Jabe, Sam, of course. Do youremember his feet?"

The captain chuckled. "My dad used to say Jabe's feet reminded himof a couple of chicken-halibut. "

"Um-hm. . . . Well, I tried on his boots and started to walkacross the wharf in em. . . . "

"Well, what of it? Gracious king! hurry up. What happened?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, nothin' much, only seemed to me I'd had half of mywalk afore those boots began to move. "

Captain Hunniwell enjoyed the story hugely. It was not until hislaugh had died away to a chuckle that its application to the banksituation dawned upon him. 

"Umph!" he grunted. "I see. You cal'late that Lute Small willfill Gus Howes' job about the way you filled those boots, eh? Youmay be right, shouldn't wonder if you was, but we've got to havesomebody and we've got to have him now. So I guess likely we'lllet Lute sign on and wait till later to find out whether he's anable seaman or a--a--"

He hesitated, groping for a simile. Mr. Winslow supplied one. 

"Or a leak, " he suggested. 

"Yes, that's it. Say, have you heard anything from Leander Babbittlately?"

"No, nothin' more than Gab Bearse was reelin' off last time he wasin here. How is Phin Babbitt? Does he speak to you yet?"

"Not a word. But the looks he gives me when we meet would sourmilk. He's dead sartin that I had somethin' to do with his boy'svolunteerin' and he'll never forgive me for it. He's the best handat unforgivin' I ever saw. No, no! Wonder what he'd say if heknew 'twas you, Jed, that was really responsible?"

Jed shook his head, but made no reply. His friend was at the door. 

"Any money to take to the bank?" he inquired. "Oh, no, I took whatyou had yesterday, didn't I? Any errands you want done over toHarniss? Maud and I are goin' over there in the car thisafternoon. "

Jed seemed to reflect. "No-o, " he said; "no, I guess not. . . . Why, yes, I don't know but there is, though. If you see one ofthose things the soldiers put on in the trenches I'd wish you'd buyit for me. You know what I mean--a gas mask. "

"A gas mask! Gracious king! What on earth?"

Jed sighed. "'Twould be consider'ble protection when Gabe Bearsedropped in and started talkin', " he drawled, solemnly. 

October came in clear and fine and on a Saturday in that month Jedand Barbara went on their long anticipated picnic to the aviationcamp at East Harniss. The affair was one which they had plannedtogether. Barbara, having heard much concerning aviation duringher days of playing and listening in the windmill shop, had askedquestions. She wished to know what an aviation was. Jed hadexplained, whereupon his young visitor expressed a wish to go andsee for herself. "Couldn't you take Petunia and me some time, Mr. Winslow?" she asked. 

"Guess maybe so, " was the reply, "provided I don't forget it, sameas you forget about not callin' me Mr. Winslow. "

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Petunia ought to have reminded me. Can't youtake me some time, Uncle Jed?"

He had insisted upon her dropping the "Mr. " in addressing him. "Your ma's goin' to call me Jed, " he told her; "that is to say, Ihope she is, and you might just as well. I always answer fairlyprompt whenever anybody says 'Jed, ' 'cause I'm used to it. Whenthey say 'Mr. Winslow' I have to stop and think a week afore Iremember who they mean. "

But Barbara, having consulted her mother, refused to address herfriend as "Jed. " "Mamma says it wouldn't be respect--respectaful, "she said. "And I don't think it would myself. You see, you'reolder than I am, " she added. 

Jed nodded gravely. "I don't know but I am, a little, now youremind me of it, " he admitted. "Well, I tell you--call me 'UncleJed. ' That's got a handle to it but it ain't so much like thehandle to an ice pitcher as Mister is. 'Uncle Jed' 'll do, won'tit?"

Barbara pondered. "Why, " she said, doubtfully, "you aren't myuncle, really. If you were you'd be Mamma's brother, like--likeUncle Charlie, you know. "

It was the second time she had mentioned "Uncle Charlie. " Jed hadnever heard Mrs. Armstrong speak of having a brother, and hewondered vaguely why. However, he did not wonder long on thisparticular occasion. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "Well, let's see. I tell you: I'll be yourstep-uncle. That'll do, won't it? You've heard of step-fathers?Um-hm. Well, they ain't real fathers, and a step-uncle ain't areal uncle. Now you think that over and see if that won't fix itfirst-rate. "

The child thought it over. "And shall I call you 'Step-UncleJed'?" she asked. 

"Eh? . . . Um. . . . No-o, I guess I wouldn't. I'm only a backstep-uncle, anyway--I always come to the back steps of your house, you know--so I wouldn't say anything about the step part. You askyour ma and see what she says. "

So Barbara asked and reported as follows:

"She says I may call you 'Uncle Jed' when it's just you and Itogether, " she said. "But when other people are around she thinks'Mr. Winslow' would be more respectaful. "

It was settled on that basis. 

"Can't you take me to the aviation place sometime, Uncle Jed?"asked Barbara. 

Jed thought he could, if he could borrow a boat somewhere and Mrs. Armstrong was willing that Barbara should go with him. Bothpermission and the boat were obtained, the former with littledifficulty, after Mrs. Armstrong had made inquiries concerning Mr. Winslow's skill in handling a boat, the latter with more. At lastCaptain Perez Ryder, being diplomatically approached, told Jed hemight use his eighteen foot power dory for a day, the only costbeing that entailed by purchase of the necessary oil and gasoline. 

It was a beautiful morning when they started on their six milesail, or "chug, " as Jed called it. Mrs. Armstrong had put up alunch for them, and Jed had a bucket of clams, a kettle, a pail ofmilk, some crackers, onions and salt pork, the ingredients of apossible chowder. 

"Little mite late for 'longshore chowder picnics, ma'am, " he said, "but it's a westerly wind and I cal'late 'twill be pretty balmy inthe lee of the pines. Soon's it gets any ways chilly we'll bestartin' home. Wish you were goin' along, too. "

Mrs. Armstrong smiled and said she wished it had been possible forher to go, but it was not. She looked pale that morning, so itseemed to Jed, and when she smiled it was with an obvious effort. 

"You're not going without locking your kitchen door, are you, Mr. Jed?" she asked. 

Jed looked at her and at the door. 

"Why, " he observed, "I ain't locked that door, have I! I lockedthe front one, the one to the shop, though. Did you see the sign Itacked on the outside of it?"

"No, I didn't. "

"I didn't know but you might have. I put on it: 'Closed for theday. Inquire at Abijah Thompson's. ' You see, " he added, his eyetwinkling ever so little, "'Bije Thompson lives in the last housein the village, two mile or more over to the west'ard. "

"He does! Then why in the world did you tell people to inquirethere?"

"Oh, if I didn't they'd be botherin' you, probably, and I didn'twant 'em doin' that. If they want me enough to travel way over to'Bije's they'll come back here to-morrow, I shouldn't wonder. Iguess likely they'd have to; 'Bije don't know anything about me. "

He rubbed his chin and then added:

"Maybe 'twould be a good notion to lock that kitchen door. "

They were standing at the edge of the bluff. He sauntered over tothe kitchen, closed the door, and then, opening the window besideit, reached in through that window and turned the key in the lockof the door. Leaving the key in that lock and the window stillopen, he came sauntering back again. 

"There, " he drawled, "I guess everything's safe enough now. "

Mrs. Armstrong regarded him in amused wonder. "Do you usually lockyour door on the inside in that way?" she asked. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, yes'm. If I locked it on the outside I'd have totake the key with me, and I'm such an absent-minded dumb-head, I'dbe pretty sure to lose it. Come on, Babbie. All aboard!"

CHAPTER IX

The "Araminta, " which was the name of Captain Perez's power dory--aname, so the captain invariably explained, "wished onto her" beforehe bought her--chugged along steadily if not swiftly. The coursewas always in protected water, inside the outer beaches or throughthe narrow channels between the sand islands, and so there were nowaves to contend with and no danger. Jed, in the course of hisvaried experience afloat and ashore, had picked up a workingknowledge of gasoline engines and, anyhow, as he informed his smallpassenger, the "Araminta's" engine didn't need any expert handling. "She runs just like some folks' tongues; just get her started andshe'll clack along all day, " he observed, adding philosophically, "and that's a good thing--in an engine. "

"I know whose tongue you're thinking about, Uncle Jed, " declaredBarbara. "It's Mr. Gabe Bearse's. "

Jed was much amused; he actually laughed aloud. "Gabe and thisengine are different in one way, though, " he said. "It's withinthe bounds of human possibility to stop this engine. "

They threaded the last winding channel and came out into the bay. Across, on the opposite shore, the new sheds and lumber piles ofwhat was to be the aviation camp loomed raw and yellow in thesunlight. A brisk breeze ruffled the blue water and the pines onthe hilltops shook their heads and shrugged their green shoulders. The "Araminta" chugged across the bay, rising and falling ever solittle on the miniature rollers. 

"What shall we do, Uncle Jed?" asked Barbara. "Shall we go to seethe camp or shall we have our chowder and luncheon first and thengo?"

Jed took out his watch, shook it and held it to his ear--aprecautionary process rendered necessary because of his habit offorgetting to wind it--then after a look at the dial, announcedthat, as it was only half-past ten, perhaps they had better go tothe camp first. 

"You see, " he observed, "if we eat now we shan't hardly knowwhether we're late to breakfast or early to dinner. "

Barbara was surprised. 

"Why, Uncle Jed!" she exclaimed, "I had breakfast ever so long ago!Didn't you?"

"I had it about the same time you did, I cal'late. But myappetite's older than yours and it don't take so much exercise; Iguess that's the difference. We'll eat pretty soon. Let's go andlook the place over first. "

They landed in a little cove on the beach adjoining the Governmentreservation. Jed declared it a good place to make a fire, as itwas sheltered from the wind. He anchored the boat at the edge ofthe channel and then, pulling up the tops of his long-legged rubberboots, carried his passenger ashore. Another trip or two landedthe kettle, the materials for the chowder and the lunch baskets. Jed looked at the heap on the beach and then off at the boat. 

"Now, " he said, slowly, "the question is what have I left aboardthat I ought to have fetched ashore and what have I fetched herethat ought to be left there? . . . Hum. . . . I wonder. "

"What makes you think you've done anything like that, Uncle Jed?"asked Barbara. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, I don't think it, I know it. I've boarded withmyself for forty-five year and I know if there's anything I can getcross-eyed I'll do it. Just as likely as not I've made the bucketof clams fast to that rope out yonder and hove it overboard, andpretty soon you'll see me tryin' to make chowder out of theanchor. . . . Ah hum. . . Well. . . . 

 'As numberless as the sands on the seashore, As numberless as the sands on the shore, Oh, what a sight 'twill be, when the ransomed host we see, As numberless as--'

Well, what do you say? Shall we heave ahead for the place whereUncle Sam's birds are goin' to nest--his two-legged birds, I mean?"

They walked up the beach a little way, then turned inland, climbeda dune covered with beachgrass and emerged upon the flat meadowswhich would soon be the flying field. They walked about among thesheds, the frames of the barracks, and inspected the officebuilding from outside. There were gangs of workmen, carpenters, plumbers and shovelers, but almost no uniforms. Barbara wasdisappointed. 

"But there ARE soldiers here, " she declared. "Mamma said therewere, officer soldiers, you know. "

"I cal'late there ain't very many yet, " explained her companion. "Only the few that's in charge, I guess likely. By and by there'llbe enough, officers and men both, but now there's only carpentersand such. "

"But there are SOME officer ones--" insisted Babbie. "I wonder--Oh, see, Uncle Jed, through that window--see, aren't thosesoldiers? They've got on soldier clothes. "

Jed presumed likely that they were. Barbara nodded, sagely. "Andthey're officers, too, " she said, "I'm sure they are becausethey're in the office. Do they call them officers because theywork in offices, Uncle Jed?"

After an hour's walking about they went back to the place wherethey had left the boat and Jed set about making the chowder. Barbara watched him build the fire and open the clams, but then, growing tired of sitting still, she was seized with an idea. 

"Uncle Jed, " she asked, "can't you whittle me a shingle boat? Youknow you did once at our beach at home. And there's the cunningestlittle pond to sail it on. Mamma would let me sail it there, Iknow, 'cause it isn't a bit deep. You come and see, Uncle Jed. "

The "pond" was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, left by theoutgoing tide. Its greatest depth was not more than a foot. Jedabsent-mindedly declared the pond to be safe enough but that hecould not make a shingle boat, not having the necessary shingle. 

"Would you if you had one?" persisted the young lady. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, sartin, I guess so. "

"All right. Here is one. I picked it up on top of that littlehill. I guess it blew there. It's blowing ever so much harder upthere than it is here on the beach. "

The shingle boat being hurriedly made, its owner begged for a papersail. "The other one you made me had a paper sail, Uncle Jed. "

Jed pleaded that he had no paper. "There's some wrapped 'round thelunch, " he said, "but it's all butter and such. 'Twouldn't be anygood for a sail. Er--er--don't you think we'd better put offmakin' the sail till we get home or--or somewheres? This chowderis sort of on my conscience this minute. "

Babbie evidently did not think so. She went away on an exploringexpedition. In a few minutes she returned, a sheet of paper in herhand. 

"It was blowing around just where I found the shingle, " shedeclared. "It's a real nice place to find things, up on that hillplace, Uncle Jed. "

Jed took the paper, looked at it absently--he had taken off hiscoat during the fire-building and his glasses were presumably inthe coat pocket--and then hastily doubled it across, thrust themast of the "shingle boat" through it at top and bottom, and handedthe craft to his small companion. 

"There!" he observed; "there she is, launched, rigged and all butchristened. Call her the--the 'Geranium'--the 'Sunflower'--what'sthe name of that doll baby of yours? Oh, yes, the 'Petunia. ' Callher that and set her afloat. "

But Barbara shook her head. 

"I think, " she said, "if you don't mind, Uncle Jed, I shall callthis one 'Ruth, ' that's Mamma's name, you know. The other one youmade me was named for Petunia, and we wouldn't want to name 'em ALLfor her. It might make her too--too-- Oh, what ARE those thingsyou make, Uncle Jed? In the shop, I mean. "

"Eh? Windmills?"

"No. The others--those you tell the wind with. I know--vanes. Itmight make Petunia too vain. That's what Mamma said I mustn't bewhen I had my new coat, the one with the fur, you know. "

She trotted off. Jed busied himself with the chowder. A fewminutes later a voice behind him said: "Hi, there!" He turned tosee a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a carpenter or workmanof some sort, standing at the top of the sand dune and looking downat him with marked interest. 

"Hi, there!" repeated the stranger. 

Jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. "How d'yedo?" he observed, politely. "Nice day, ain't it? . . . Hum. . . . About five minutes more. "

The workman strode down the bank. 

"Say, " he demanded, "have you seen anything of a plan?"

"Eh? . . . Hum. . . . Two plates and two spoons . . . And twotumblers. . . . "

"Hey! Wake up! Have you seen anything of a plan, I ask you?"

"Eh? . . . A plan? . . . No, I guess not. . . . No, I ain't. . . . What is it?"

"What IS it? How do you know you ain't seen it if you don't knowwhat it is?"

"Eh? . . . I don't, I guess likely. "

"Say, you're a queer duck, it strikes me. What are you up to?What are you doin' here, anyway?"

Jed took the cover from the kettle and stirred the fragrant, bubbling mass with a long-handled spoon. 

"About done, " he mused, slowly. "Just . . . About . . . Done. Give her two minutes more for luck and then. . . . "

But his visitor was becoming impatient. "Are you deaf or are youtryin' to get my goat?" he demanded. "Because if you are you'repretty close to doin' it, I'll tell you that. You answer when Ispeak to you; understand? What are you doin' here?"

His tone was so loud and emphatic that even Mr. Winslow could nothelp but hear and understand. He looked up, vaguely troubled. 

"I--I hope you'll excuse me, Mister, " he stammered. "I'm afraid Ihaven't been payin' attention the way I'd ought to. You see, I'mmakin' a chowder here and it's just about got to the place whereyou can't--"

"Look here, you, " began his questioner, but he was interrupted inhis turn. Over the edge of the bank came a young man in the khakiuniform of the United States Army. He was an officer, a secondlieutenant, and a very young and very new second lieutenant atthat. His face was white and he seemed much agitated. 

"What's the matter here?" he demanded. Then, seeing Jed for thefirst time, he asked: "Who is this man and what is he doing here?"

"That's just what I was askin' him, sir, " blustered the workman. "I found him here with this fire goin' and I asked him who he wasand what he was doin'. I asked him first if he'd seen the plan--"

"Had he?" broke in the young officer, eagerly. Then, addressingJed, he said: "Have you seen anything of the plan?"

Jed slowly shook his head. "I don't know's I know what you mean bya plan, " he explained. "I ain't been here very long. I just-- Mysoul and body!"

He snatched the kettle from the fire, took off the cover, sniffedanxiously, and then added, with a sigh of relief, "Whew! I declareI thought I smelt it burnin'. Saved it just in time. Whew!"

The lieutenant looked at Jed and then at the workman. The lattershook his head. 

"Don't ask me, sir, " he said. "That's the way he's been actin'ever since I struck here. Either he's batty or else he'spretendin' to be, one or the other. Look here, Rube!" he roared atthe top of his lungs, "can the cheap talk and answer thelieutenant's questions or you'll get into trouble. D'ye hear?"

Jed looked up at him. "I'm pretty nigh sure I should hear if youwhispered a little louder, " he said, gently. 

The young officer drew himself up. "That's enough of this, " heordered. "A plan has been lost here on this reservation, avaluable plan, a drawing of--well, a drawing that has to do withthe laying out of this camp and which might be of value to theenemy if he could get it. It was on my table in the office lessthan an hour ago. Now it is missing. What we are asking you iswhether or not you have seen anything of it. Have you?"

Jed shook his head. "I don't think I have, " he replied. 

"You don't think? Don't you know? What is the matter with you?Is it impossible for you to answer yes or no to a question?"

"Um--why, yes, I cal'late 'tis--to some questions. "

"Well, by George! You're fresh enough. "

"Now--now, if you please, I wasn't intendin' to be fresh. I just--"

"Well, you are. Who is this fellow? How does he happen to behere? Does any one know?"

Jed's first interrogator, the big workman, being the only onepresent beside the speaker and the object of the question, took itupon himself to answer. 

"I don't know who he is, " he said. "And he won't tell why he'shere. Looks mighty suspicious to me. Shouldn't wonder if he was aGerman spy. They're all around everywheres, so the papers say. "

This speech had a curious effect. The stoop in the Winslowshoulders disappeared. Jed's tall form straightened. When hespoke it was in a tone even more quiet and deliberate than usual, but there could be no shadow of a doubt that he meant what he said. 

"Excuse me, Mister, " he drawled, "but there's one or two names thatjust now I can't allow anybody to call me. 'German' is one and'spy' is another. And you put 'em both together. I guess likelyyou was only foolin', wasn't you?"

The workman looked surprised. Then he laughed. "Shall I call aguard, sir?" he asked, addressing the lieutenant. "Better have himsearched, I should say. Nine chances to one he's got the plan inhis pocket. "

The officer--he was very young--hesitated. Jed, who had not takenhis eyes from the face of the man who had called him a German spy, spoke again. 

"You haven't answered me yet, " he drawled. "You was only foolin'when you said that, wasn't you?"

The lieutenant, who may have felt that he had suddenly become anegligible factor in the situation, essayed to take command of it. 

"Shut up, " he ordered, addressing Winslow. Then to the other, "Yes, call a guard. We'll see if we can't get a straight answerfrom this fellow. Hurry up. "

The workman turned to obey. But, to his surprise, his path wasblocked by Jed, who quietly stepped in front of him. 

"I guess likely, if you wasn't foolin', you'd better take back whatyou called me, " said Jed. 

They looked at each other. The workman was tall and strong, butJed, now that he was standing erect, was a little taller. Hishands, which hung at his sides, were big and his arms long. And inhis mild blue eye there was a look of unshakable determination. The workman saw that look and stood still. 

"Hurry up!" repeated the lieutenant. 

Just how the situation might have ended is uncertain. How it didend was in an unexpected manner. From the rear of the trio, fromthe top of the sandy ridge separating the beach from the meadow, anew voice made itself heard. 

"Well, Rayburn, what's the trouble?" it asked. 

The lieutenant turned briskly, so, too, did Mr. Winslow and hisvis-a-vis. Standing at the top of the ridge was another officer. He was standing there looking down upon them and, although he wasnot smiling, Jed somehow conceived the idea that he was much amusedabout something. Now he descended the ridge and walked toward thegroup by the fire. 

"Well, Rayburn, what is it?" he asked again. 

The lieutenant saluted. 

"Why--why, Major Grover, " he stammered, "we--that is I found thisman here on the Government property and--and he won't explain whathe's doing here. I--I asked him if he had seen anything of theplan and he won't answer. I was just going to put him under arrestas--as a suspicious person when you came. "

Major Grover turned and inspected Jed, and Jed, for his part, inspected the major. He saw a well set-up man of perhaps thirty-five, dark-haired, brown-eyed and with a closely clipped mustacheabove a pleasant mouth and a firm chin. The inspection lasted aminute or more. Then the major said:

"So you're a suspicious character, are you?"

Jed's hand moved across his chin in the gesture habitual with him. 

"I never knew it afore, " he drawled. "A suspicious character is animportant one, ain't it? I--er--I'm flattered. "

"Humph! Well, you realize it now, I suppose?"

"Cal'late I'll have to, long's your--er--chummie there says it'sso. "

The expression of horror upon Lieutenant Rayburn's face at hearinghimself referred to as "chummie" to his superior officer was worthseeing. 

"Oh, I say, sir!" he explained. The major paid no attention. 

"What were you and this man, " indicating the big carpenter, "bristling up to each other for?" he inquired. 

"Well, this guy he--" began the workman. Major Grover motioned himto be quiet. 

"I asked the other fellow, " he said. Jed rubbed his chin oncemore. 

"He said I was a German spy, " he replied. 

"Are you?"

"No. " The answer was prompt enough and emphatic enough. MajorGrover tugged at the corner of his mustache. 

"Well, I--I admit you don't look it, " he observed, dryly. "What'syour name and who are you?"

Jed told his name, his place of residence and his business. 

"Is there any one about here who knows you, who could prove youwere who you say you are?"

Mr. Winslow considered. "Ye-es, " he drawled. "Ye-es, I guess so. 'Thoph Mullett and 'Bial Hardy and Georgie T. Nickerson andSquealer Wixon, they're all carpenterin' over here and they're fromOrham and know me. Then there's Bluey Batcheldor and Emulous Bakerand 'Gawpy'--I mean Freddie G. --and--"

"There, there! That's quite sufficient, thank you. Do you knowany of those men?" he asked, turning to the workman. 

"Yes, sir, I guess I do. "

"Very well. Go up and bring two of them here; not more than two, understand. "

Jed's accuser departed. Major Grover resumed his catechizing. 

"What were you doing here?" he asked. 

"Eh? Me? Oh, I was just picnicin', as you might say, along with alittle girl, daughter of a neighbor of mine. She wanted to seewhere the soldiers was goin' to fly, so I borrowed Perez Ryder'spower dory and we came over. 'Twas gettin' along dinner time and Ibuilt a fire so as to cook. . . . My soul!" with a gasp ofconsternation, "I forgot all about that chowder. And now it's gotstone cold. Yes, sir!" dropping on his knees and removing thecover of the kettle, "stone cold or next door to it. Ain't that ashame!"

Lieutenant Rayburn snorted in disgust. His superior officer, however, merely smiled. 

"Never mind the chowder just now, " he said. "So you came over herefor a picnic, did you? Little late for picnics, isnt it?"

"Yes--ye-es, " drawled Jed, "'tis kind of late, but 'twas a nice, moderate day and Babbie she wanted to come, so--"

"Babbie? That's the little girl? . . . Oh, " with a nod, "Iremember now. I saw a man with a little girl wandering about amongthe buildings a little while ago. Was that you?"

"Ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . Tut, tut, tut! I'll have to warmthis chowder all up again now. That's too bad!"

Voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of the carpenterand the two "identifiers. " The latter, Mr. Emulous Baker and Mr. "Squealer" Wixon, were on the broad grin. 

"Yup, that's him, " announced Mr. Wixon. "Hello, Shavin's! Got youtook up for a German spy, have they? That's a good one! haw, haw!"

"Do you know him?" asked the major. 

"Know him?" Mr. Wixon guffawed again. "Known him all my life. Helives over to Orham. Makes windmills and whirlagigs and such foryoung-ones to play with. HE ain't any spy. His name's JedWinslow, but we always call him 'Shavin's, ' 'count of his whittlin'up so much good wood, you understand. Ain't that so, Shavin's?Haw, haw!"

Jed regarded Mr. Wixon mournfully. 

"Um-hm, " he admitted. "I guess likely you're right, Squealer. "

"I bet you! There's only one Shavin's in Orham. "

Jed sighed. "There's consider'ble many squealers, " he drawled;"some in sties and some runnin' loose. "

Major Grover, who had appeared to enjoy this dialogue, interruptedit now. 

"That would seem to settle the spy question, " he said. "You maygo, all three of you, " he added, turning to the carpenters. Theydeparted, Jed's particular enemy muttering to himself and Mr. Wixonlaughing uproariously. The major once more addressed Jed. 

"Where is the little girl you were with?" he asked. 

"Eh? Oh, she's over yonder just 'round the p'int, sailin' ashingle boat I made her. Shall I call her?"

"No, it isn't necessary. Mr. Winslow, I'm sorry to have put you toall this trouble and to have cooled your--er--chowder. There is noregulation against visitors to our reservation here just now, although there will be, of course, later on. There is a ruleagainst building fires on the beach, but you broke that inignorance, I'm sure. The reason why you have been cross-questionedto-day is a special one. A construction plan has been lost, asLieutenant Rayburn here informed you. It was on his desk in theoffice and it has disappeared. It may have been stolen, of course, or, as both windows were open, it may have blown away. You aresure you haven't seen anything of it? Haven't seen any papersblowing about?"

"I'm sure it didn't blow away, sir, " put in the lieutenant. "I'mpositive it was stolen. You see--"

He did not finish his sentence. The expression upon Jed's facecaused him to pause. Mr. Winslow's mouth and eyes were openingwider and wider. 

"Sho!" muttered Jed. "Sho, now! . . . 'Tain't possible that . . . I snum if . . . Sho!"

"Well, what is it?" demanded both officers, practically in concert. 

Jed did not reply. Instead he turned his head, put both hands tohis mouth and shouted "Babbie!" through them at the top of hislungs. The third shout brought a faint, "Yes, Uncle Jed, I'mcoming. "

"What are you calling her for?" asked Lieutenant Rayburn, forgetting the presence of his superior officer in his anxiousimpatience. Jed did not answer. He was kneeling beside hisjacket, which he had thrown upon the sand when he landed, and wasfumbling in the pockets. "Dear me! dear me!" he was muttering. "I'm sartin they must be here. I KNOW I put 'em here because . . . OW!"

He was kneeling and holding the coat with one hand while he fumbledin the pockets with the other. Unconsciously he had leanedbackward until he sat upon his heels. Now, with an odd expressionof mingled pain and relief, he reached into the hip pocket of histrousers and produced a pair of spectacles. He smiled his slow, fleeting smile. 

"There!" he observed, "I found 'em my way--backwards. Anybody elsewould have found 'em by looking for 'em; I lost 'em lookin' for 'emand found 'em by sittin' on 'em. . . . Oh, here you are, Babbie!Sakes alive, you're sort of dampish. "

She was all of that. She had come running in answer to his calland had the shingle boat hugged close to her. The water from ithad trickled down the front of her dress. Her shoes and stockingswere splashed with wet sand. 

"Is dinner ready, Uncle Jed?" she asked, eagerly. Then becomingaware that the two strange gentlemen standing by the fire werereally and truly "officer ones, " she looked wide-eyed up at themand uttered an involuntary "Oh!"

"Babbie, " said Jed, "let me see that boat of yours a minute, willyou?"

Babbie obediently handed it over. Jed inspected it through hisspectacles. Then he pulled the paper sail from the sharpenedstick--the mast--unfolded it, looked at it, and then extended it atarm's length toward Major Grover. 

"That's your plan thing, ain't it?" he asked, calmly. 

Both officers reached for the paper, but the younger, rememberingin time, drew back. The other took it, gave it a quick glance, andthen turned again to Mr. Winslow. 

"Where did you get this?" he asked, crisply. 

Jed shook his head. 

"She gave it to me, this little girl here, " he explained. Shewanted a sail for that shingle craft I whittled out for her. Course if I'd had on my specs I presume likely I'd have noticedthat 'twas an out of the common sort of paper, but--I was wearin''em in my pants pocket just then. "

"Where did you get it?" demanded Rayburn, addressing Barbara. Thechild looked frightened. Major Grover smiled reassuringly at herand she stammered a rather faint reply. 

"I found it blowing around up on the little hill there, " she said, pointing. "It was blowing real hard and I had to run to catch itbefore it got to the edge of the water. I'm--I--I'm sorry I gaveit to Uncle Jed for a sail. I didn't know--and--and he didn'teither, " she added, loyally. 

"That's all right, my dear. Of course you didn't know. Well, Rayburn, " turning to the lieutenant, "there's your plan. You seeit did blow away, after all. I think you owe this young ladythanks that it is not out in mid-channel by this time. Take itback to the office and see if the holes in it have spoiled itsusefulness to any extent. "

The lieutenant, very red in the face, departed, bearing hisprecious plan. Jed heaved a sigh of relief. 

"There!" he exclaimed, "now I presume likely I can attend to mychowder. "

"The important things of life, eh?" queried Major Grover. 

"Um-hm. I don't know's there's anything much more important thaneatin'. It's a kind of expensive habit, but an awful hard one toswear off of. . . . Hum. . . . Speakin' of important things, wasthat plan of yours very important, Mr. --I mean Major?"

"Rather--yes. "

"Sho! . . . And I stuck it on a stick and set it afloat on ashingle. I cal'late if Sam Hunniwell knew of that he'd say 'twascharacteristic. . . . Hum. . . . Sho! . . . I read once about afeller that found where the great seal of England was hid and heused it to crack nuts with. I guess likely that feller must havebeen my great, great, great granddad. "

Major Grover looked surprised. 

"I've read that story, " he said, "but I can't remember where. "

Jed was stirring his chowder. "Eh?" he said, absently. "Where?Oh, 'twas in--the--er--'Prince and the Pauper, ' you know. MarkTwain wrote it. "

"That's so; I remember now. So you've read 'The Prince and thePauper'?"

"Um-hm. Read about everything Mark Twain ever wrote, I shouldn'twonder. "

"Do you read a good deal?"

"Some. . . . There! Now we'll call that chowder done for thesecond time, I guess. Set down and pass your plate, Babbie. You'll set down and have a bite with us, won't you, Mr. --Major--Isnum I've forgot your name. You mustn't mind; I forget my ownsometimes. "

"Grover. I am a major in the Engineers, stationed here for thepresent to look after this construction work. No, thank you, Ishould like to stay, but I must go back to my office. "

"Dear, dear! That's too bad. Babbie and I would like first-rateto have you stay. Wouldn't we, Babbie?"

Barbara nodded. 

"Yes, sir, " she said. "And the chowder will be awf'ly good. UncleJed's chowders always are. "

"I'm sure of it. " Major Grover's look of surprise was more evidentthan ever as he gazed first at Barbara and then at Mr. Winslow. His next question was addressed to the latter. 

"So you are this young lady's uncle?" he inquired. It was Barbarawho answered. 

"Not my really uncle, " she announced. "He's just my make-believeuncle. He says he's my step-uncle 'cause he comes to our backsteps so much. But he's almost better than a real uncle, " shedeclared, emphatically. 

The major laughed heartily and said he was sure of it. He seemedto find the pair hugely entertaining. 

"Well, good-by, " he said. "I hope you and your uncle will visit usagain soon. And I hope next time no one will take him for a spy. "

Jed looked mournfully at the fire. "I've been took for a fooloften enough, " he observed, "but a spy is a consider'ble worseguess. "

Grover looked at him. "I'm not so sure, " he said. "I imagine bothguesses would be equally bad. Well, good-by. Don't forget to comeagain. "

"Thank you, thank you. And when you're over to Orham drop in someday and see Babbie and me. Anybody--the constable or anybody--willtell you where I live. "

Their visitor laughed, thanked him, and hurried away. Said Barbarabetween spoonfuls:

"He's a real nice officer one, isn't he, Uncle Jed? Petunia and Ilike him. "

During the rest of the afternoon they walked along the beach, picked up shells, inspected "horse-foot" crabs, jelly fish and"sand collars, " and enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that it wasafter four when they started for home. The early October dusksettled down as they entered the winding channel between the sandislands and the stretches of beaches. Barbara, wrapped in an oldcoat of Captain Perez's, which, smelling strongly of fish, had beenfound in a locker, seemed to be thinking very hard and, for awonder, saying little. At last she broke the silence. 

"That Mr. Major officer man was 'stonished when I called you 'UncleJed, '" she observed. "Why, do you s'pose?"

Jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the seaweedmarking the border of the narrow, shallow channel. 

"I cal'late, " he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't noticedhow much we look alike. "

It was Barbara's turn to be astonished. 

"But we DON'T look alike, Uncle Jed, " she declared. "Not a singlebit. "

Jed nodded. "No-o, " he admitted. "I presume that's why he didn'tnotice it. "

This explanation, which other people might have found somewhatunsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy Miss Armstrong; at any rate sheaccepted it without comment. There was another pause in theconversation. Then she said:

"I don't know, after all, as I ought to call you 'Uncle Jed, ' UncleJed. "

"Eh? Why not, for the land sakes?"

"'Cause uncles make people cry in our family. I heard Mamma cryinglast night, after she thought I was asleep. And I know she wascrying about Uncle Charlie. She cried when they took him away, youknow, and now she cries when he's coming home again. She criedawf'ly when they took him away. "

"Oh, she did, eh?"

"Yes. He used to live with Mamma and me at our house inMiddleford. He's awful nice, Uncle Charlie is, and Petunia and Iwere very fond of him. And then they took him away and we haven'tseen him since. "

"He's been sick, maybe. "

"Perhaps so. But he must be well again now cause he's coming home;Mamma said so. "

"Um-hm. Well, I guess that was it. Probably he had to go to the--the hospital or somewhere and your ma has been worried about him. He's had an operation maybe. Lots of folks have operationsnowadays; it's got to be the fashion, seems so. "

The child reflected. 

"Do they have to have policemen come to take you to the hospital?"she asked. 

"Eh? . . . Policemen?"

"Yes. 'Twas two big policemen took Uncle Charlie away the firsttime. We were having supper, Mamma and he and I, and Nora went tothe door when the bell rang and the big policemen came and UncleCharlie went away with them. And Mamma cried so. And she wouldn'ttell me a bit about. . . . Oh! OH! I've told about the policemen!Mamma said I mustn't ever, EVER tell anybody that. And--and I did!I DID!"

Aghast at her own depravity, she began to sob. Jed tried tocomfort her and succeeded, after a fashion, at least she stoppedcrying, although she was silent most of the way home. And Jedhimself was silent also. He shared her feeling of guilt. He feltthat he had been told something which neither he nor any outsidershould have heard, and his sensitive spirit found littleconsolation in the fact that the hearing of it had come through nofault of his. Besides, he was not so sure that he had beenfaultless. He had permitted the child's disclosures to go on when, perhaps, he should have stopped them. By the time the "Araminta's"nose slid up on the sloping beach at the foot of the bluff beforethe Winslow place she held two conscience-stricken culprits insteadof one. 

And if Ruth Armstrong slept but little that night, as her daughtersaid had been the case the night before, she was not the onlywakeful person in that part of Orham. She would have beensurprised if she had known that her eccentric neighbor and landlordwas also lying awake and that his thoughts were of her and hertrouble. For Jed, although he had heard but the barest fragment ofthe story of "Uncle Charlie, " a mere hint dropped from the lips ofa child who did not understand the meaning of what she said, hadheard enough to make plain to him that the secret which the youngwidow was hiding from the world was a secret involving sorrow andheartbreak for herself and shame and disgrace for others. Thedetails he did not know, nor did he wish to know them; he wasentirely devoid of that sort of curiosity. Possession of thelittle knowledge which had been given him, or, rather, had beenthrust upon him, and which Gabe Bearse would have considered agossip treasure trove, a promise of greater treasures to bediligently mined, to Jed was a miserable, culpable thing, like thecustody of stolen property. He felt wicked and mean, as if he hadbeen caught peeping under a window shade. 

CHAPTER X

That night came a sudden shift in the weather and when morningbroke the sky was gray and overcast and the wind blew raw andpenetrating from the northeast. Jed, at work in his stock roomsorting a variegated shipment of mills and vanes which were to goto a winter resort on the west coast of Florida, was, as he mighthave expressed it, down at the mouth. He still felt the sense ofguilt of the night before, but with it he felt a redoubledrealization of his own incompetence. When he had surmised hisneighbor and tenant to be in trouble he had felt a strong desire tohelp her; now that surmise had changed to certainty his desire tohelp was stronger than ever. He pitied her from the bottom of hisheart; she seemed so alone in the world and so young. She needed asympathetic counselor and advisor. But he could not advise or helpbecause neither he nor any one else in Orham was supposed to knowof her trouble and its nature. Even if she knew that he knew, would she accept the counsel of Shavings Winslow? Hardly! Nosensible person would. How the townsfolk would laugh if they knewhe had even so much as dreamed of offering it. 

He was too downcast even to sing one of his lugubrious hymns or towhistle. Instead he looked at the letter pinned on a beam besidehim and dragged from the various piles one half-dozen crow vanes, one half-dozen gull vanes, one dozen medium-sized mills, one dozensmall mills, three sailors, etc. , etc. , as set forth upon thatorder. One of the crows fell to the floor and he accidentlystepped upon it and snapped its head off. He was gazing solemnlydown at the wreck when the door behind him opened and a strongblast of damp, cold wind blew in. He turned and found that Mrs. Armstrong had opened the door. She entered and closed it behindher. 

"Good morning, " she said. 

Jed was surprised to see her at such an early hour; also just atthat time her sudden appearance was like a sort of miracle, as ifthe thoughts in his brain had taken shape, had materialized. For amoment he could not regain presence of mind sufficient to returnher greeting. Then, noticing the broken vane on the floor, sheexclaimed:

"Oh, you have had an accident. Isn't that too bad! When did ithappen?"

He looked down at the decapitated crow and touched one of thepieces with the toe of his boot. 

"Just this minute, " he answered. "I stepped on it and away shewent. Did a pretty neat, clean job, didn't I? . . . Um-hm. . . . I wonder if anybody stepped on MY head 'twould break like that. Probably not; the wood in it is too green, I cal'late. "

She smiled, but she made no comment on this characteristic bit ofspeculation. Instead she asked: "Mr. Winslow, are you very busythis morning? Is your work too important to spare me just a fewminutes?"

Jed looked surprised; he smiled his one-sided smile. 

"No, ma'am, " he drawled. "I've been pretty busy but 'twan't aboutanything important. I presume likely, " he added, "there ain'tanybody in Ostable County that can be so busy as I can be doin'nothin' important. "

"And you can spare a few minutes? I--I want to talk to you verymuch. I won't be long, really. "

He regarded her intently. Then he walked toward the door leadingto the little workroom. "Come right in here, ma'am, " he said, gravely; adding, after they had entered the other apartment, "Takethat chair. I'll sit over here on the box. "

He pulled forward the box and turned to find her still standing. 

"Do sit down, " he urged. "That chair ain't very comfortable, Iknow. Perhaps I'd better get you another one from my sittin'-roomin yonder. "

He was on his way to carry out the suggestion, but she interruptedhim. "Oh, no, " she said. "This one will be perfectly comfortable, I'm sure, only--"

"Yes? Is there somethin' the matter with it?"

"Not the matter with it, exactly, but it seems to be--occupied. "

Jed stepped forward and peered over the workbench at the chair. Its seat was piled high with small pasteboard boxes containinghardware-screws, tacks and metal washers--which he used in his milland vane-making. 

"Sho!" he exclaimed. "Hum! Does seem to be taken, as you say. Irecollect now; a lot of that stuff came in by express day beforeyesterday afternoon and I piled it up there while I was unpackin'it. Here!" apparently addressing the hardware, "you get out ofthat. That seat's reserved. "

He stretched a long arm over the workbench, seized the chair by theback and tipped it forward. The pasteboard boxes went to the floorin a clattering rush. One containing washers broke open and thelittle metal rings rolled everywhere. Mr. Winslow did not seem tomind. 

"There!" he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction; "sit right down, ma'am. "

The lady sat as requested, her feet amid the hardware boxes and herhands upon the bench before her. She was evidently very nervous, for her fingers gripped each other tightly. And, when she nextspoke, she did not look at her companion. 

"Mr. Winslow, " she began, "I--I believe--that is, Babbie tells methat--that last evening, when you and she were on your way backhere in the boat, she said something--she told you somethingconcerning our--my--family affairs which--which--"

She faltered, seeming to find it hard to continue. Jed did notwait. He was by this time at least as nervous as she was andconsiderably more distressed and embarrassed. He rose from the boxand extended a protesting hand. 

"Now, now, ma'am, " he begged. "Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please--pleasedon't say any more. It ain't necessary, honest it ain't. She--she--that child she didn't tell me much of anything anyhow, and shedidn't mean to tell that. And if you knew how ashamed and--andmean I've felt ever since to think I let myself hear that much! Ihope--I do hope you don't think I tried to get her to tell meanything. I do hope you don't think that. "

His agitation was so acute and so obvious that she looked at him inwonder for a moment. Then she hastened to reassure him. 

"Don't distress yourself, Mr. Winslow, " she said, smiling sadly. "I haven't known you very long but I have already learned enoughabout you to know that you are an honorable man. If I did not knowthat I shouldn't be here now. It is true that I did not mean foryou or any one here in Orham to learn of my--of our trouble, and ifBabbie had not told you so much I probably should never have spokento you about it. The poor child's conscience troubled her so lastevening that she came crying to me and confessed, and it is becauseI gathered from her that she had told enough to make you at leastguess the truth that I am here now. I prefer that you should hearthe story just as it is from me, rather than imagine somethingwhich might be worse. Don't you see?"

Jed saw, but he was still very much perturbed. 

"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he begged, "don't tell me anything, please don't. I laid awake about all night thinkin' what I'd oughtto do, whether I'd ought to tell you what Babbie said, or just nottrouble you at all and try to forget I ever heard it. That's whatI decided finally, to forget it; and I will--I vow and declare Iwill! Don't you tell me anything, and let me forget this. Nowplease. "

But she shook her head. "Things like that are not so easilyforgotten, " she said; "even when one tries as hard to forget as Iam sure you would, Mr. Winslow. No, I want to tell you; I reallydo. Please don't say any more. Let me go on. . . . Oh, " with asudden burst of feeling "can't you see that I must talk withSOMEONE--I MUST?"

Her clasped fingers tightened and the tears sprang to her eyes. Poor Jed's distress was greater than ever. 

"Now--now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he stammered, "all I meant to say wasthat you mustn't feel you've got to tell me. Course if you wantto, that's different altogether. What I'm tryin' to say, " headded, with a desperate attempt to make his meaning perfectlyclear, "is not to pay any attention to ME at all but do just whatYOU want to, that's all. "

Even on the verge of tears as she was, she could not forbearsmiling a little at this proclamation of complete self-effacement. "I fear I must pay some attention to you, " she said, "if I am toconfide in you and--and perhaps ask your help, your advice, afterwards. I have reached a point when I must ask some one'sadvice; I have thought myself into a maze and I don't know what todo--I don't know WHAT to do. I have no near relatives, no friendshere in Orham--"

Jed held up a protesting hand. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong, " he stammered; "I don't know as yourecollect, probably it might not have meant as much to you as itdid to me; but a spell ago you said somethin' about countin' me asa friend. "

"I know I did. And I meant it. You have been very kind, andBarbara is so fond of you. . . . Well, perhaps you can advise me, at least you can suggest--or--or--help me to think. Will you?"

Jed passed his hand across his chin. It was obvious that herasking his counsel was simply a last resort, a desperate, forlornhope. She had no real confidence in his ability to help. He wouldhave been the last to blame her for this; her estimate of hiscapabilities was like his own, that was all. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he observed, slowly, "as to givin' my advice, when aman's asked to give away somethin' that's worth nothin' the leasthe can do is say yes and try to look generous, I cal'late. If Ican advise you any, why, I'll feel proud, of course. "

"Thank you. Mr. Winslow, for the past two years or more I havebeen in great trouble. I have a brother--but you knew that; Babbietold you. "

"Um-hm. The one she calls 'Uncle Charlie'?"

"Yes. He is--he is serving his sentence in the Connecticut StatePrison. "

Jed leaned back upon the box. His head struck smartly against theedge of the bandsaw bench, but he did not seem to be aware of thefact. 

"My Lord above!" he gasped. 

"Yes, it is true. Surely you must have guessed something of thatsort, after Babbie's story of the policemen. "

"I--I--well, I did sort of--of presume likely he must have got intosome sort of--of difficulty, but I never thought 'twas bad asthat. . . . Dear me! . . . Dear me!"

"My brother is younger than I; he is scarcely twenty-three yearsold. He and I are orphans. Our home was in Wisconsin. Father waskilled in a railway accident and Mother and my brother Charles andI were left with very little money. We were in a university townand Mother took a few students as lodgers. Doctor Armstrong wasone; I met him there, and before he left the medical college wewere engaged to be married. Charlie was only a boy then, ofcourse. Mother died three years later. Meanwhile Seymour--DoctorArmstrong--had located in Middleford, Connecticut, and waspracticing medicine there. He came on, we were married, and Ireturned to Middleford with him. We had been married but a fewyears when he died--of pneumonia. That was the year after Babbiewas born. Charles remained in Wisconsin, boarding with a cousin ofMother's, and, after he graduated from high school, entered one ofthe banks in the town. He was very successful there and the bankpeople liked him. After Seymour--my husband--died, he came East tosee me at Middleford. One of Doctor Armstrong's patients, a bondbroker in New Haven, took a fancy to him, or we thought he did, andoffered him a position. He accepted, gave up his place at the bankin Wisconsin, and took charge of this man's Middleford office, making his home with Babbie and me. He was young, too young Ithink now, to have such a responsible position, but every one saidhe had a remarkably keen business mind and that his future wascertain to be brilliant. And then--"

She paused. It was evident that the hard part of her story wascoming. After a moment she went on. 

"Charlie was popular with the young people there in Middleford. Hewas always a favorite, at home, at school, everywhere. Motheridolized him while she lived, so did I, so did Babbie. He was fondof society and the set he was friendly with was made up, for themost part, of older men with much more money than he. He wasproud, he would not accept favors without repaying them, he liked agood time, perhaps he was a little fast; not dissipated--I shouldhave known if he were that--but--careless--and what you men call a'good fellow. ' At any rate, he--"

Again she paused. Jed, sitting on the box, clasping his kneebetween his hands, waited anxiously for her to continue. 

"Of course you can guess what happened, " she said, sadly, after amoment. "It was the old story, that is all. Charlie was livingbeyond his means, got into debt and speculated in stocks, hoping tomake money enough to pay those debts. The stocks went down and--and--well, he took money belonging to his employer to protect hispurchases. "

She waited, perhaps expecting her companion to make some comment. He did not and again she spoke. 

"I know he meant only to borrow it, " she declared. "I KNOW it. Heisn't bad, Mr. Winslow; I know him better than any one and he ISN'Tbad. If he had only come to me when he got into the trouble!If he had only confided in me! But he was proud and--and hedidn't. . . . Well, I won't tell you how his--his fault wasdiscovered; it would take a long time and it isn't worth while. They arrested him, he was tried and--and sent to prison for twoyears. "

For the first time since she began her story Jed uttered a word. 

"Sho!" he exclaimed. "Sho, sho! Dear me! The poor young feller!"

She looked up at him quickly. "Thank you, " she said, gratefully. "Yes, he was sent to prison. He was calm and resigned and verybrave about it, but to me it was a dreadful shock. You see, he hadtaken so little money, not much over two thousand dollars. Wecould have borrowed it, I'm sure; he and I could have worked outthe debt together. We could have done it; I would have worked atanything, no matter how hard, rather than have my brother brandedall his life with the disgrace of having been in prison. But theman for whom he had worked was furiously angry at what he calledCharlie's ingratitude; he would teach the young thief a lesson, hesaid. Our lawyer went to him; I went to him and begged him not topress the case. Of course Charlie didn't know of my going; henever would have permitted it if he had. But I went and begged andpleaded. It did no good. Why, even the judge at the trial, whenhe charged the jury, spoke of the defendant's youth and previousgood character. . . . "

She covered her eyes with her hand. Poor Jed's face was a pictureof distress. 

"Now--now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he urged, "don't, please don't. I--Iwouldn't tell me any more about it, if I was you. Of course I'm--I'm proud to think you believed I was worth while tellin' it to andall that, but--you mustn't. You'll make yourself sick, you know. Just don't tell any more, please. "

She took her hand away and looked at him bravely. 

"There isn't any more to tell, " she said. "I have told you thisbecause I realized that Barbara had told you enough to make youimagine everything that was bad concerning my brother. And he isnot bad, Mr. Winslow. He did a wrong thing, but I know--I KNOW hedid not mean deliberately to steal. If that man he worked for hadbeen--if he had been-- But there, he was what he was. He saidthieves should be punished, and if they were punished when theywere young, so much the better, because it might be a warning andkeep them honest as they grew older. He told me that, Mr. Winslow, when I pleaded with him not to make Charles' disgrace public andnot to wreck the boy's life. That was what he told me then. Andthey say, " she added, bitterly, "that he prides himself upon beinga staunch supporter of the church. "

Jed let go of his knee with one hand in order to rub his chin. 

"I have queer notions, I cal'late, " he drawled. "If they wasn'tqueer they wouldn't be mine, I suppose. If I was--er--as you mightsay, first mate of all creation I'd put some church folks in jailand a good many jail folks in church. Seems's if the swap would bea help to both sides. . . . I--I hope you don't think I'm--er--unfeelin', jokin', when you're in such worry and trouble, " headded, anxiously. "I didn't mean it. "

His anxiety was wasted. She had heard neither his first remark northe apology for it. Her thoughts had been far from the windmillshop and its proprietor. Now, apparently awakening to presentrealities, she rose and turned toward the door. 

"That was all, " she said, wearily. "You know the whole truth now, Mr. Winslow. Of course you will not speak of it to any one else. "Then, noticing the hurt look upon his face, she added, "Forgive me. I know you will not. If I had not known it I should not haveconfided in you. Thank you for listening so patiently. "

She was going, but he touched her arm. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong, " he faltered, "but--but wasn't theresomethin' else? Somethin' you wanted to ask my advice about--or--or--somethin'?"

She smiled faintly. "Yes, there was, " she admitted. "But I don'tknow that it is worth while troubling you, after all. It is notlikely that you can help me. I don't see how any one can. "

"Probably you're right. I--I ain't liable to be much help toanybody. But I'm awful willin' to try. And sometimes, you know--sometimes surprisin' things happen. 'Twas a--a mouse, or a groundmole, wasn't it, that helped the lion in the story book out of thescrape? . . . Not that I don't look more like a--er--giraffe thanI do like a mouse, " he added. 

Mrs. Armstrong turned and looked at him once more. "You're verykind, " she said. "And I know you mean what you say. . . . Why, yes, I'll tell you the rest. Perhaps, " with the slight smile, "youCAN advise me, Mr. Winslow. You see--well, you see, my brotherwill be freed very shortly. I have received word that he is to bepardoned, his sentence is to be shortened because of what they callhis good conduct. He will be free--and then? What shall he dothen? What shall we all do? That is my problem. "

She went on to explain. This was the situation: Her own incomewas barely sufficient for Barbara and herself to live, in thefrugal way they were living, in a country town like Orham. Thatwas why she had decided to remain there. No one in the villageknew her story or the story of her brother's disgrace. But now, almost any day, her brother might be discharged from prison. Hewould be without employment and without a home. She would sogladly offer him a home with her--they could manage to live, toexist in some way, she said--but she knew he would not be contentto have her support him. There was no chance of employment inOrham; he would therefore be forced to go elsewhere, to gowandering about looking for work. And that she could not bear tothink of. 

"You see, " she said, "I--I feel as if I were the only helper and--well--guardian the poor boy has. I can imagine, " smiling wanly, "how he would scorn the idea of his needing a guardian, but I feelas if it were my duty to be with him, to stand by him when everyone else has deserted him. Besides, " after an instant'shesitation, "I feel--I suppose it is unreasonable, but I feel as ifI had neglected my duty before; as if perhaps I had not watched himas carefully as I should, or encouraged him to confide in me; Ican't help feeling that perhaps if I had been more careful in thisway the dreadful thing might not have happened. . . . Oh, " sheadded, turning away again, "I don't know why I am telling all thesethings to you, I'm sure. They can't interest you much, and thetelling isn't likely to profit either of us greatly. But I am soalone, and I have brooded over my troubles so much. As I said Ihave felt as if I must talk with some one. But there--goodmorning, Mr. Winslow. "

"Just a minute, please, Mrs. Armstrong; just a minute. Hasn't yourbrother got any friends in Middleford who could help him get somework--a job--you know what I mean? Seems as if he must have, oryou must have. "

"Oh, we have, I suppose. We had some good friends there, as wellas others whom we thought were friends. But--but I think we bothhad rather die than go back there; I am sure I should. Think whatit would mean to both of us. "

Jed understood. She might have been surprised to realize howclearly he understood. She was proud, and it was plain to see thatshe had been very proud of her brother. And Middleford had beenher home where she and her husband had spent their few preciousyears together, where her child was born, where, after her brothercame, she had watched his rise to success and the apparentassurance of a brilliant future. She had begun to be happy oncemore. Then came the crash, and shame and disgrace instead of prideand confidence. Jed's imagination, the imagination which was quitebeyond the comprehension of those who called him the town crank, grasped it all--or, at least, all its essentials. He noddedslowly. 

"I see, " he said. "Yes, yes, I see. . . . Hum. "

"Of course, any one must see. And to go away, to some city or townwhere we are not known--where could we go? What should we live on?And yet we can't stay here; there is nothing for Charles to do. "

"Um. . . . He was a--what did you say his trade was?"

"He was a bond broker, a kind of banker. "

"Eh? . . . A kind of banker. . . . Sho! Did he work in a bank?"

"Why, yes, I told you he did, in Wisconsin, where he and I used tolive. "

"Hum. . . . Pretty smart at it, too, seems to me you said he was?"

"Yes, very capable indeed. "

"I want to know. . . . Hum. . . . Sho!"

He muttered one or two more disjointed exclamations and then ceasedto speak altogether, staring abstractedly at a crack in the floor. All at once he began to hum a hymn. Mrs. Armstrong, whose nerveswere close to the breaking point, lost patience. 

"Good morning, Mr. Winslow, " she said, and opened the door to theouter shop. This time Jed did not detain her. Instead he stareddreamily at the floor, apparently quite unconscious of her or hissurroundings. 

"Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, yes, good mornin', --good mornin'. . . . Hum. . . . 

 'There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins, And sinners plunged de de de de De de di dew dum de. '"

His visitor closed the door. Jed still sat there gazing at vacancyand droning, dolefully. 

CHAPTER XI

For nearly an hour he sat there, scarcely changing his position, and only varying his musical program by whistling hymns instead ofsinging them. Once, hearing a step in the yard, he looked throughthe window and saw Gabriel Bearse walking toward the gate from thedirection of the shop door instead of in the opposite direction. Evidently he had at first intended to call and then had changed hismind. Mr. Winslow was duly grateful to whoever or whatever hadinspired the change. He had no desire to receive a visit from"Gab" Bearse, at this time least of all. 

Later on he heard another step, and, again glancing through thewindow, saw Seth Wingate, the vegetable and fruit peddler, walkingfrom the door to the gate, just as Mr. Bearse had done. ApparentlySeth had changed his mind also. Jed thought this rather odd, butagain he was grateful. He was thinking hard and was quite willingnot to be disturbed. 

But the disturbing came ten minutes after Mr. Wingate's departureand came in the nature of a very distinct disturbance. There was aseries of thunderous knocks on the front door, that door was thrownviolently open, and, before the startled maker of mills could domuch more than rise to his feet, the door to the workroom waspulled open also. Captain Hunniwell's bulk filled the opening. Captain Sam was red-faced and seemed excited. 

"Well, by the gracious king, " he roared, "you're here, anyhow!What else is the matter with you?"

Jed, who, after recognizing his visitor, had seated himself oncemore, looked up and nodded. 

"Hello, Sam, " he observed. "Say, I was just thinkin' about you. That's kind of funny, ain't it?"

"Funny! Just thinkin' about me! Well, I've been thinkin' aboutyou, I tell you that: Have you been in this shop all the forenoon?"

"Eh? . . . Why, yes. . . . Sartin. . . . I've been right here. "

"You HAVE? Gracious king! Then why in the Old Harry have you gotthat sign nailed on your front door out here tellin' all handsyou're out for the day and for 'em to ask for you up at AbijahThompson's?"

Jed looked much surprised. His hand moved slowly across his chin. 

"Sho!" he drawled. "Sho! Has that sign been hangin' there allthis forenoon?"

"Don't ask me. I guess it has from what I've heard. Anyhow it'sthere now. And WHAT'S it there for? That's what I want to know. "

Jed's face was very solemn, but there was a faint twinkle in hiseye. "That explains about Seth Wingate, " he mused. "Yes, and GabBearse too. . . . Hum. . . . The Lord was better to me than Ideserved. They say He takes care of children and drunken men and--er--the critters that most folks think belong to my lodge. . . . Hum. . . . To think I forgot to take that sign down! Sho!"

"Forgot to take it down! What in everlastin' blazes did you everput it up for?"

Jed explained why the placard had been prepared and affixed to thedoor. "I only meant it for yesterday, though, " he added. "I'dintended takin' it down this mornin'. "

Captain Sam put back his head and laughed until the shop echoed. 

"Ho, ho, ho!" he roared. "And you mean to tell me that you put itup there because you was goin' cruisin' to the aviation camp andyou didn't want callers disturbin' Mrs. Armstrong?"

His friend nodded. "Um-hm, " he admitted. "I sent 'em to 'Bije'sbecause he was as far off as anybody I could think of. Pretty goodidea, wasn't it?"

The captain grinned. "Great!" he declared. "Fine! Wonderful!You wait till 'Bije comes to tell you how fine 'twas. He's in bed, laid up with neuralgia, and Emma J. , his wife, says that every houror less yesterday there was somebody bangin' at their door askingabout you. Every time they banged she says that 'Bije, his nervesbein' on edge the way they are, would pretty nigh jump the quiltsup to the ceilin' and himself along with 'em. And his remarks gotmore lit up every jump. About five o'clock when somebody camepoundin' he let out a roar you could hear a mile. 'Tell 'emShavin's Winslow's gone to the devil, ' he bellowed, 'and that I saythey can go there too. ' And then Emma J. Opened the door and'twan't anybody askin' about you at all; 'twas the Baptist ministercome callin'. I was drivin' past there just now and Emma J. Cameout to tell me about it. She wanted to know if you'd gone clearcrazy instead of part way. I told her I didn't know, but I'd makeit my business to find out. Tut, tut, tut! You are a wonder, Jed. "

Jed did not dispute the truth of this statement. He lookedtroubled, however. "Sho!" he said; "I'm sorry if I plagued 'Bijahthat way. If I'd known he was sick I wouldn't have done it. Inever once thought so many folks as one every hour would want tosee me this time of year. Dear me! I'm sorry about 'Bije. MaybeI'd better go down and kind of explain it to him. "

Captain Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't, " he said. "If I was you I'dexplain over the long distance telephone. But, anyhow, I wouldn'tworry much. I cal'late Emma J. Exaggerated affairs some. Probably, if the truth was known, you'd find not more than fourfolks came there lookin' for you yesterday. Don't worry, Jed. "

Jed did not answer. The word "worry" had reminded him of his othervisitor that morning. He looked so serious that his friendrepeated his adjuration. 

"Don't worry, I tell you, " he said, again. "'Tisn't worth it. "

"All right, I won't. . . . I won't. . . . Sam, I was thinkin'about you afore you came in. You remember I told you that?"

"I remember. What have you got on your mind? Any more moneykickin' around this glory-hole that you want me to put to youraccount?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I believe there is some somewheres. Seems tome I put about a hundred and ten dollars, checks and bills andsuch, away day before yesterday for you to take when you came. Maybe I'll remember where I put it before you go. But 'twan'tabout that I was thinkin'. Sam, how is Barzilla Small's boy, Lute, gettin' along in Gus Howes' job at the bank?"

Captain Sam snorted disgust. 

"Gettin' along!" he repeated. "He's gettin' along the way a squidswims, and that's backwards. And, if you asked me, I'd say thelonger he stayed the further back he'd get. "

"Sho! then he did turn out to be a leak instead of an able seaman, eh?"

"A leak! Gracious king! He's like a torpedo blow-up under theengine-room. The bank'll sink if he stays aboard another month, Ido believe. And yet, " he added, with a shake of the head, "I don'tsee but he'll have to stay; there ain't another available candidatefor the job in sight. I 'phoned up to Boston and some of ourfriends are lookin' around up there, but so far they haven't hadany success. This war is makin' young men scarce, that is youngmen that are good for much. Pretty soon it'll get so that ahealthy young feller who ain't in uniform will feel about as muchout of place as a hog in a synagogue. Yes, sir! Ho, ho!"

He laughed in huge enjoyment of his own joke. Jed stared dreamilyat the adjusting screw on the handsaw. His hands clasped his knee, his foot was lifted from the floor and began to swing back andforth. 

"Well, " queried his friend, "what have you got on your mind? Outwith it. "

"Eh? . . . On my mind?"

"Yes. When I see you begin to shut yourself together in the middlelike a jackknife and start swinging that number eleven of yours Iknow you're thinkin' hard about somethin' or other. What is itthis time?"

"Um . . . Well . . . Er . . . Sam, if you saw a chance to get areal smart young feller in Lute's place in the bank you'd take him, wouldn't you?"

"Would I? Would a cat eat lobster? Only show him to me, that'sall!"

"Um-hm. . . . Now of course you know I wouldn't do anything tohurt Lute. Not for the world I wouldn't. It's only if you AREgoin' to let him go--"

"IF I am. Either he'll have to let go or the bank will, one ort'other. United we sink, divided one of us may float, that's theway I look at it. Lute'll stay till we can locate somebody else totake his job, and no longer. "

"Ya-as. . . . Um-hm. . . . Well, I tell you, Sam: Don't you getanybody else till you and I have another talk. It may be possiblethat I could find you just the sort of young man you're lookin'for. "

"Eh? YOU can find me one? YOU can? What are you givin' me, Jed?Who is the young man; you?"

Jed gravely shook his head. "No-o, " he drawled. "I hate todisappoint you, Sam, but it ain't me. It's another--er--smart, lively young feller. He ain't quite so old as I am; there's alittle matter of twenty odd years between us, I believe, butotherwise than that he's all right. And he knows the bankin'trade, so I'm told. "

"Gracious king! Who is he? Where is he?"

"That I can't tell you just yet. But maybe I can by and by. "

"Tell me now. "

"No-o. No, I just heard about him and it was told to me in secret. All I can say is don't get anybody to fill Lute Small's place tillyou and I have another talk. "

Captain Sam stared keenly into his friend's face. Jed bore thescrutiny calmly; in fact he didn't seem to be aware of it. Thecaptain gave it up. 

"All right, " he said. "No use tryin' to pump you, I know that. When you make up your mind to keep your mouth shut a fellercouldn't open it with a cold chisel. I presume likely you'll tellin your own good time. Now if you'll scratch around and find thosechecks and things you want me to deposit for you I'll take 'em andbe goin'. I'm in a little bit of a hurry this mornin'. "

Jed "scratched around, " finally locating the checks and bills inthe coffee pot on the shelf in his little kitchen. 

"There!" he exclaimed, with satisfaction, "I knew I put 'emsomewheres where they'd be safe and where I couldn't forget 'em. "

"Where you couldn't forget 'em! Why, you did forget 'em, didn'tyou?"

"Um . . . Yes . . . I cal'late I did this mornin', but that'sbecause I didn't make any coffee for breakfast. If I'd made coffeesame as I usually do I'd have found 'em. "

"Why didn't you make coffee this mornin'?"

Jed's eye twinkled. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "to be honest with you, Sam, 'twas becauseI couldn't find the coffee pot. After I took it down to put thismoney in it I put it back on a different shelf. I just found itnow by accident. "

As the captain was leaving Jed asked one more question. "Sam, " heasked, "about this bank job now? If you had a chance to get abright, smart young man with experience in bank work, you'd hirehim, wouldn't you?"

Captain Hunniwell's answer was emphatic. 

"You bet I would!" he declared. "If I liked his looks and hisreferences were good I'd hire him in two minutes. And salary, anyreasonable salary, wouldn't part us, either. . . . Eh? What makesyou look like that?"

For Jed's expression had changed; his hand moved across his chin. 

"Eh--er--references?" he repeated. 

"Why, why, of course. I'd want references from the folks he'dworked for, statin' that he was honest and capable and all that. With those I'd hire him in two minutes, as I said. You fetch himalong and see. So long, Jed. See you later. "

He hustled out, stopping to tear from the outer door the placarddirecting callers to call at Abijah Thompson's. Jed returned tohis box and sat down once more to ponder. In his innocence it hadnot occurred to him that references would be required. 

That evening, about nine, he crossed the yard and knocked at theback door of the little house. Mrs. Armstrong answered the knock;Barbara, of course, was in bed and asleep. Ruth was surprised tosee her landlord at that, for him, late hour. Also, rememberingthe unceremonious way in which he had permitted her to depart atthe end of their interview that forenoon, she was not as cordial asusual. She had made him her confidant, why she scarcely knew;then, after expressing great interest and sympathy, he had suddenlyseemed to lose interest in the whole matter. She was acquaintedwith his eccentricities and fits of absent-mindedness, butnevertheless she had been hurt and offended. She told herself thatshe should have expected nothing more from "Shavings" Winslow, theperson about whom two-thirds of Orham joked and told stories, butthe fact remained that she was disappointed. And she was angry, not so much with him perhaps, as with herself. WHY had she been sofoolish as to tell any one of their humiliation?

So when Jed appeared at the back door she received him rathercoldly. He was quite conscious of the change in temperature, buthe made no comment and offered no explanation. Instead he told hisstory, the story of his interview with Captain Hunniwell. As hetold it her face showed at first interest, then hope, and at thelast radiant excitement. She clasped her hands and leaned towardhim, her eyes shining. 

"Oh, Mr. Winslow, " she cried, breathlessly, "do you mean it? Doyou really believe Captain Hunniwell will give my brother aposition in his bank?"

Jed nodded slowly. "Yes, " he said, "I think likely he might. Course 'twouldn't be any great of a place, not at first--nor ever, I cal'late, so far as that goes. 'Tain't a very big bank and wagesain't--"

But she interrupted. "But that doesn't make any difference, " shecried. "Don't you see it doesn't! The salary and all that won'tcount--now. It will be a start for Charles, an opportunity for himto feel that he is a man again, doing a man's work, an honest man'swork. And he will be here where I can be with him, where we can betogether, where it won't be so hard for us to be poor and wherethere will be no one who knows us, who knows our story. Oh, Mr. Winslow, is it really true? If it is, how--how can we ever thankyou? How can I ever show you how grateful I feel?"

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and joy shone in her eagereyes. Her voice broke a little as she uttered the words. Jedlooked at her and then quickly looked away. 

"I--I--don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong, " he pleaded, hastily. "It--it ain't anything, it ain't really. It just--"

"Not anything? Not anything to find my brother the opportunity heand I have been praying for? To give me the opportunity of havinghim with me? Isn't that anything? It is everything. Oh, Mr. Winslow, if you can do this for us--"

"Shsh! Sshh! Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please. You mustn't say I'mdoin' it for you. I'm the one that just happened to think of it, that's all. You could have done it just as well, if you'd thoughtof it. "

"Perhaps, " with a doubtful smile, "but I should never have thoughtof it. You did because you were thinking for me--for my brotherand me. And--and I thought you didn't care. "

"Eh? . . . Didn't care?"

"Yes. When I left you at the shop this morning after our talk. You were so--so odd. You didn't speak, or offer to advise me as Ihad asked you to; you didn't even say good-by. You just sat thereand let me go. And I didn't understand and--"

Jed put up a hand. His face was a picture of distress. 

"Dear, dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "Did I do that? I don'tremember it, but of course I did if you say so. Now what on earthpossessed me to? . . . Eh?" as the idea occurred to him. "Tellme, was I singin'?"

"Why, yes, you were. That is, you were--were--"

"Makin' a noise as if I'd swallowed a hymn book and one of thetunes was chokin' me to death? Um-hm, that's the way I sing. AndI was singin' when you left me, eh? That means I was thinkin'about somethin'. I told Babbie once, and it's the truth, thatthinkin' was a big job with me and when I did it I had to dropeverything else, come up into the wind like a schooner, you know, and just lay to and think. . . . Oh, I remember now! You saidsomethin' about your brother's workin' in a bank and that set methinkin' that Sam must be needin' somebody by this time in LuteSmall's place. "

"You didn't know he needed any one?"

"No-o, not exactly; but I knew Lute, and that amounted to the samething. Mrs. Armstrong, I do hope you'll forgive me for--forsingin' and--and all the rest of my foolish actions. "

"Forgive you! Will you forgive me for misjudging you?"

"Land sakes, don't talk that way. But there's one thing I haven'tsaid yet and you may not like it. I guess you and your brother'llhave to go to Sam and tell him the whole story. "

Her expression changed. "The whole story?" she repeated. "Why, what do you mean? Tell him that Charles has been in--in prison?You don't mean THAT?"

"Um-hm, " gravely; "I'm afraid I do. It looks to me as if it wasthe only way. "

"But we can't! Oh, Mr. Winslow, we can't do that. "

"I know 'twill be awful hard for you. But, when I talked to Samabout my havin' a possible candidate for the bank place, the verylast thing he said was that he'd be glad to see him providin' hisreferences was all right. I give you my word I'd never thought ofreferences, not till then. "

"But if we tell him--tell him everything, we shall only makematters worse, shan't we? Of course he won't give him the positionthen. "

"There's a chance he won't, that's true. But Sam Hunniwell's afine feller, there ain't any better, and he likes you and--well, heand I have been cruisin' in company for a long spell. Maybe he'llgive your brother a chance to make good. I hope he will. "

"You only hope? I thought you said you believed. "

"Well, I do, but of course it ain't sartin. I wish 'twas. "

She was silent. Jed, watching her, saw the last traces ofhappiness and elation fade from her face and disappointment anddiscouragement come back to take their places. He pitied her, andhe yearned to help her. At last he could stand it no longer. 

"Now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he pleaded, "of course--"

She interrupted. 

"No, " she said, as if coming to a final decision and speaking thatdecision aloud: "No, I can't do it. "

"Eh? Can't do--what?"

"I can't have Captain Hunniwell know of our trouble. I came hereto Orham, where no one knew me, to avoid that very thing. At homethere in Middleford I felt as if every person I met was staring atme and saying, 'Her brother is in prison. ' I was afraid to haveBabbie play with the other children. I was--but there, I won'ttalk about it. I can't. And I cannot have it begin again here. I'll go away first. We will all go away, out West, anywhere--anywhere where we can be--clean--and like other people. "

Jed was conscious of a cold sensation, like the touch of an icicle, up and down his spine. Going away! She and Babbie going away! Inhis mind's eye he saw a vision of the little house closed once moreand shuttered tight as it used to be. He gasped. 

"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he faltered. "Don't talk about goin'away. It--it isn't needful for you to do anything like that. Ofcourse it ain't. You--you mustn't. I--we can't spare you. "

She drew a long breath. "I would go to the other end of theworld, " she said, "rather than tell Captain Hunniwell the truthabout my brother. I told you because Babbie had told you so muchalready. . . . Oh, " turning swiftly toward him, "YOU won't tellCaptain Hunniwell, will you?"

Before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "Oh, pleaseforgive me, " she cried. "I am not myself. I am almost crazy, Ithink. And when you first told me about the position in the bank Iwas so happy. Oh, Mr. Winslow, isn't there SOME way by whichCharles could have that chance? Couldn't--couldn't he get it and--and work there for--for a year perhaps, until they all saw what asplendid fellow he was, and THEN tell them--if it seemed necessary?They would know him then, and like him; they couldn't help it, every one likes him. "

She brushed the tears from her eyes. Poor Jed, miserable and mostunreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair. "I--Idon't know, " he faltered. "I declare I don't see how. Er--er--Out in that bank where he used to work, that Wisconsin bank, he--you said he did first-rate there?"

She started. "Yes, yes, " she cried, eagerly. "Oh, he was splendidthere! And the man who was the head of that bank when Charles wasthere is an old friend of ours, of the family; he has retired nowbut he would help us if he could, I know. I believe . . . I wonderif . . . Mr. Winslow, I can't tell any one in Orham of our disgraceand I can't bear to give up that opportunity for my brother. Willyou leave it to me for a little while? Will you let me think itover?"

Of course Jed said he would and went back to his little room overthe shop. As he was leaving she put out her hand and said, withimpulsive earnestness:

"Thank you, Mr. Winslow. Whatever comes of this, or if nothingcomes of it, I can never thank you enough for your great kindness. "

Jed gingerly shook the extended hand and fled, his face scarlet. 

During the following week, although he saw his neighbors each day, and several times a day, Mrs. Armstrong did not mention her brotheror the chance of his employment in the Orham bank. Jed, very muchsurprised at her silence, was tempted to ask what her decision was, or even if she had arrived at one. On one occasion he threw out abroad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady changedthe subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she made it a point ofavoiding that subject and was anxious that he should avoid it, also. He was sure she had not abandoned the idea which, at first, had so excited her interest and raised her hopes. She seemed tohim to be still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act asif under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to leave theaffair to her, to let her think it over, so of course he could door say nothing until she had spoken. But he wondered andspeculated a good deal and was vaguely troubled. When Captain SamHunniwell called he did not again refer to his possible candidatefor the position now held by Luther Small. And, singularly enough, the captain himself did not mention the subject. 

But one morning almost two weeks after Jed's discussion with theyoung widow she and Captain Hunniwell came into the windmill shoptogether. Mrs. Armstrong's air of excitement was very much inevidence. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled, her manneranimated. Her landlord had never seen her look so young, or, forthat matter, so happy. 

Captain Sam began the conversation. He, too, seemed to be in highgood humor. 

"Well, Jedidah Wilfred Shavin's', " he observed, facetiously, "whatdo you suppose I've got up my sleeve this mornin'?"

Jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening. 

"Your arms, I presume likely, " he drawled. 

"Yes, I've got my arms and there's a fist at the end of each one of'em. Any more--er--flippity answers like that one and you'reliable to think you're struck by lightnin'. This lady and I havegot news for you. Do you know what 'tis?"

Jed looked at Mrs. Armstrong and then at the speaker. 

"No-o, " he said, slowly. 

"Well, to begin with it's this: Lute Small is leavin' the OrhamNational a week from next Saturday by a vote of eight to one. Thedirectors and the cashier and I are the eight and he's the one. Ho, ho! And who do you suppose comes aboard on the next Mondaymornin' to take over what Lute has left of the job? Eh? Who?Why, your own candidate, that's who. "

Jed started. Again he looked at Mrs. Armstrong and, as if inanswer to that look, she spoke. 

"Yes, Mr. Winslow, " she said, quickly, "my brother is coming toOrham and Captain Hunniwell has given him the position. It isreally you to whom he owes it all. You thought of it and spoke tothe captain and to me. "

"But why in time, " demanded Captain Sam, "didn't you tell me rightout that 'twas Mrs. Armstrong's brother you had in mind? Graciousking! if I'd known that I'd have had Lute out a fortni't sooner. "

Jed made no reply to this. He was still staring at the lady. 

"But--but--" he faltered, "did you--have you--"

He stopped in the middle of a word. Ruth was standing behind thecaptain and he saw the frightened look in her eyes and the swiftmovement of her finger to her lips. 

"Oh, yes, " she said. "I--I have. I told Captain Hunniwell ofCharlie's experience in the bank in Wisconsin. He has writtenthere and the answer is quite satisfactory, or so he seems tothink. "

"Couldn't be better, " declared Captain Sam. "Here's the letterfrom the man that used to be the bank president out there. Readit, Jed, if you want to. "

Jed took the letter and, with a hand which shook a little, adjustedhis glasses and read. It was merely a note, brief and to thepoint. It stated simply that while Charles Phillips had been inthe employ of their institution as messenger, bookkeeper andassistant teller, he had been found honest, competent, ambitiousand thoroughly satisfactory. 

"And what more do I want than that?" demanded the captain. "Anybody who can climb up that way afore he's twenty-five will dowell enough for yours truly. Course he and I haven't met yet, buthis sister and I've met, and I'm not worryin' but what I'll likethe rest of the family. Besides, " he added, with a combinationlaugh and groan, "it's a case of desperation with us up at thebank. We've got to have somebody to plug that leak you was talkin'about, Jed, and we've got to have 'em immediate, right off quick, at once, or a little sooner. It's a providence, your brother is tous, Mrs. Armstrong, " he declared; "a special providence and nomistake. "

He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at thebank already. 

"Course the cashier's there and the rest of the help, " he added, "but it takes all hands and the cat to keep Lute from puttin' thekindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the stove with ten dollarbills. So long. "

After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor. His voiceshook a little as he spoke. 

"You haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. "You--youhaven't told him!"

She shook her head. "I couldn't--I couldn't, " she declared. "DON'T look at me like that. Please don't! I know it is wrong. Ifeel like a criminal; I feel wicked. But, " defiantly, "I shouldfeel more wicked if I had told him and my brother had lost the onlyopportunity that might have come to him. He WILL make good, Mr. Winslow. I KNOW he will. He will make them respect him and likehim. They can't help it. See!" she cried, her excitement andagitation growing; "see how Mr. Reed, the bank president there athome, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for Charles!He knows, too; he knows the whole story. I--I wrote to him. Iwrote that very night when you told me, Mr. Winslow. I explainedeverything, I begged him--he is an old, old friend of our family--to do this thing for our sakes. You see, it wasn't asking him tolie, or to do anything wrong. It was just that he tell of Charlesand his ability and character as he knew them. It wasn't wrong, was it?"

Jed did not answer. 

"If it was, " she declared, "I can't help it. I would do it again--for the same reason--to save him and his future, to save us all. Ican't help what you think of me. It doesn't matter. All that doesmatter is that you keep silent and let my brother have his chance. "

Jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put his hand tohis forehead. 

"Don't--don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong, " he begged. "You know--youknow I don't think anything you've done is wrong. I ain't got theright to think any such thing as that. And as for keepin' still--why, I--I did hope you wouldn't feel 'twas necessary to ask that. "

"I don't--I don't. I know you and I trust you. You are the onlyperson in Orham whom I have trusted. You know that. "

"Why, yes--why, yes, I do know it and--and I'm ever so much obligedto you. More obliged than I can tell you, I am. Now--now wouldyou mind tellin' me just one thing more? About this Mr. What's-his-name out West in the bank there--this Mr. Reed--did he writeyou he thought 'twas all right for him to send Sam the--the kind ofletter he did send him, the one givin' your brother such a goodreference?"

The color rose in her face and she hesitated before replying. 

"No, " she confessed, after a moment. "He did not write me that hethought it right to give Captain Hunniwell such a reference. Infact he wrote that he thought it all wrong, deceitful, bordering onthe dishonest. He much preferred having Charles go to the captainand tell the whole truth. On the other hand, however, he said herealized that that might mean the end of the opportunity here andperhaps public scandal and gossip by which we all might suffer. And he said he had absolute confidence that Charles was not acriminal by intent, and he felt quite sure that he would never gowrong again. If he were still in active business, he said, heshould not hesitate to employ him. Therefore, although he stillbelieved the other course safer and better, he would, if CaptainHunniwell wrote, answer as I had asked. And he did answer in thatway. So, you see, " she cried, eagerly, "HE believes in Charles, just as I do. And just as you will when you know, Mr. Winslow. Oh, WON'T you try to believe now?"

A harder-hearted man than Jed Winslow would have found it difficultto refuse such a plea made in such a way by such a woman. AndJed's heart was anything but hard. 

"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong, " he stammered, "you don't have to ask methat. Course I believe in the poor young chap. And--and I guesslikely everything's goin' to come out all right. That Mr. What's-his-name--er--Wright--no, Reed--I got read and write mixed up, Iguess--he's a business man and he'd ought to know about such thingsbetter'n I do. I don't doubt it'll come out fine and we won'tworry any more about it. "

"And we will still be friends? You know, Mr. Winslow, you are theonly real friend I have in Orham. And you have been so loyal. "

Jed flushed with pleasure. 

"I--I told you once, " he said, "that my friends generally called me'Jed. '"

She laughed. "Very well, I'll call you 'Jed, '" she said. "But turnabout is fair play and you must call me 'Ruth. ' Will you? Oh, there's Babbie calling me. Thank you again, for Charles' sake andmy own. Good morning--Jed. "

"Er--er--good mornin', Mrs. Armstrong. "

"What?"

"Er--I mean Mrs. Ruth. "

The most of that forenoon, that is the hour or so remaining, wasspent by Mr. Winslow in sitting by the workbench and idlyscratching upon a board with the point of the chisel. Sometimeshis scratches were meaningless, sometimes they spelled a name, aname which he seemed to enjoy spelling. But at intervals duringthat day, and on other days which followed, he was conscious of anuneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a dimforeboding. 

Ruth Armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. But had he beenas loyal to an older friend, a friend he had known all his life?Had he been loyal to Captain Sam Hunniwell?

That was the feeling of guilt. The foreboding was not as definite, but it was always with him; he could not shake it off. All hislife he had dealt truthfully with the world, had not lied, orevaded, or compromised. Now he had permitted himself to become asilent partner in such a compromise. And some day, somehow, trouble was coming because of it. 

CHAPTER XII

Before the end of another week Charles Phillips came to Orham. Itwas Ruth who told Jed the news. She came into the windmill shopand, standing beside the bench where he was at work, she said: "Mr. Winslow, I have something to tell you. "

Jed put down the pencil and sheet of paper upon which he had beendrawing new patterns for the "gull vane" which was to move itswings when the wind blew. This great invention had not progressedvery far toward practical perfection. Its inventor had been busywith other things and had of late rather lost interest in it. ButBarbara's interest had not flagged and to please her Jed hadpromised to think a little more about it during the next day or so. 

"But can't you make it flap its wings, Uncle Jed?" the child hadasked. 

Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "I don't know. Ithought I could, but now I ain't so sure. I could make 'em whirl'round and 'round like a mill or a set of sailor paddles, but tomake 'em flap is different. They've got to be put on strong enoughso they won't flop off. You see, " he added, solemnly, "if theykept floppin' off they wouldn't keep flappin' on. There's all thedifference in the world between a flap and flop. "

He was trying to reconcile that difference when Ruth entered theshop. He looked up at her absently. "Mr. Winslow, " she beganagain, "I--"

His reproachful look made her pause and smile slightly in spite ofherself. 

"I'm sorry, " she said. "Well, then--Jed--I have something to tellyou. My brother will be here to-morrow. "

Jed had been expecting to hear this very thing almost any day, buthe was a little startled nevertheless. 

"Sho!" he exclaimed. "You don't tell me!"

"Yes. He is coming on the evening train to-morrow. I had wordfrom him this morning. "

Jed's hand moved to his chin. "Hum . . . " he mused. "I guesslikely you'll be pretty glad to see him. "

"I shall be at least that, " with a little break in her voice. "Youcan imagine what his coming will mean to me. No, I suppose youcan't imagine it; no one can. "

Jed did not say whether he imagined it or not. 

"I--I'm real glad for you, Mrs. Ruth, " he declared. "Mrs. Ruth"was as near as he ever came to fulfilling their agreementconcerning names. 

"I'm sure you are. And for my brother's sake and my own I am verygrateful to you. Mr. Winslow--Jed, I mean--you have done so muchfor us already; will you do one thing more?"

Jed's answer was given with no trace of his customary hesitation. "Yes, " he said. 

"This is really for me, perhaps, more than for Charles--or at leastas much. "

Again there was no hesitation in the Winslow reply. 

"That won't make it any harder, " he observed, gravely. 

"Thank you. It is just this: I have decided not to tell my brotherthat I have told you of his--his trouble, of his having been--wherehe has been, or anything about it. He knows I have not toldCaptain Hunniwell; I'm sure he will take it for granted that I havetold no one. I think it will be so much easier for the poor boy ifhe can come here to Orham and think that no one knows. And no onedoes know but you. You understand, don't you?" she added, earnestly. 

He looked a little troubled, but he nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, slowly. "I understand, I cal'late. "

"I'm sure you do. Of course, if he should ask me point-blank if Ihad told any one, I should answer truthfully, tell him that I hadtold you and explain why I did it. And some day I shall tell himwhether he asks or not. But when he first comes here I want him tobe--to be--well, as nearly happy as is possible under thecircumstances. I want him to meet the people here without thefeeling that they know he has been--a convict, any of them. Andso, unless he asks, I shall not tell him that even you know; and Iam sure you will understand and not--not--"

"Not say anything when he's around that might let the cat out ofthe bag. Yes, yes, I see. Well, I'll be careful; you can count onme, Mrs. Ruth. "

She looked down into his homely, earnest face. "I do, " she said, simply, and went out of the room. For several minutes after shehad gone Jed sat there gazing after her. Then he sighed, picked uphis pencil and turned again to the drawing of the gull. 

And the following evening young Phillips came. Jed, looking fromhis shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw up at the gate. Barbarawas the first to alight. Philander Hardy came around to the backof the vehicle and would have assisted her, but she jumped downwithout his assistance. Then came Ruth and, after her, a slimyoung fellow carrying a traveling bag. It was dusk and Jed couldnot see his face plainly, but he fancied that he noticed aresemblance to his sister in the way he walked and the carriage ofhis head. The two went into the little house together and Jedreturned to his lonely supper. He was a trifle blue that evening, although he probably would not have confessed it. Least of allwould he have confessed the reason, which was that he was just alittle jealous. He did not grudge his tenant her happiness in herbrother's return, but he could not help feeling that from that timeon she would not be as intimate and confidential with him, JedWinslow, as she had been. After this it would be to this brotherof hers that she would turn for help and advice. Well, of course, that was what she should do, what any one of sense would do, butJed was uncomfortable all the same. Also, because he was himself, he felt a sense of guilty remorse at being uncomfortable. 

The next morning he was presented to the new arrival. It wasBarbara who made the presentation. She came skipping into thewindmill shop leading the young man by the hand. 

"Uncle Jed, " she said, "this is my Uncle Charlie. He's been awayand he's come back and he's going to work here always and live inthe bank. No, I mean he's going to work in the bank always andlive-- No, I don't, but you know what I do mean, don't you, UncleJed?"

Charles Phillips smiled. "If he does he must be a mind-reader, Babbie, " he said. Then, extending his hand, he added: "Glad toknow you, Mr. Winslow. I've heard a lot about you from Babbie andSis. "

Jed might have replied that he had heard a lot about him also, buthe did not. Instead he said "How d'ye do, " shook the profferedhand, and looked the speaker over. What he saw impressed himfavorably. Phillips was a good-looking young fellow, with apleasant smile, a taking manner and a pair of dark eyes whichreminded Mr. Winslow of his sister's. It was easy to believeRuth's statement that he had been a popular favorite among theiracquaintances in Middleford; he was the sort the average personwould like at once, the sort which men become interested in andwomen spoil. 

He was rather quiet during this first call. Babbie did two-thirdsof the talking. She felt it her duty as an older inhabitant todisplay "Uncle Jed" and his creations for her relative's benefit. Vanes, sailors, ships and mills were pointed out and commentedupon. 

"He makes every one, Uncle Charlie, " she declared solemnly. "He'smade every one that's here and--oh, lots and lots more. He madethe big mill that's up in our garret-- You haven't seen it yet, Uncle Charlie; it's going to be out on our lawn next spring--and hegave it to me for a--for a-- What kind of a present was that millyou gave me, Uncle Jed, that time when Mamma and Petunia and I weregoing back to Mrs. Smalley's because we thought you didn't want usto have the house any longer?"

Jed looked puzzled. 

"Eh?" he queried. "What kind of a present? I don't know's Iunderstand what you mean. "

"I mean what kind of a present was it. It wasn't a Christmaspresent or a birthday present or anything like that, but it must beSOME kind of one. What kind of present would you call it, UncleJed?"

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "I guess likely you might call it a forget-me-not present, if you had to call it anything. "

Barbara pondered. 

"A--a forget-me-not is a kind of flower, isn't it?" she asked. 

"Um-hm. "

"But this is a windmill. How can you make a flower out of awindmill, Uncle Jed?"

Jed rubbed his chin. "Well, that's a question, " he admitted. "Butyou can make flour IN a windmill, 'cause I've seen it done. "

More pondering on the young lady's part. Then she gave it up. 

"You mustn't mind if you don't understand him, Uncle Charlie, " shesaid, in her most confidential and grown-up manner. "He says lotsof things Petunia and I don't understand at all, but he's awfulnice, just the same. Mamma says he's choking--no, I mean jokingwhen he talks that way and that we'll understand the jokes lotsbetter when we're older. SHE understands them almost always, " sheadded proudly. 

Phillips laughed. Jed's slow smile appeared and vanished. "Looksas if facin' my jokes was no child's play, don't it, " he observed. "Well, I will give in that gettin' any fun out of 'em is a man'ssize job. "

On the following Monday the young man took up his duties in thebank. Captain Hunniwell interviewed him, liked him, and hired himall in the same forenoon. By the end of the first week of theirassociation as employer and employee the captain liked him stillbetter. He dropped in at the windmill shop to crow over the fact. 

"He takes hold same as an old-time first mate used to take hold ofa green crew, " he declared. "He had his job jumpin' to the whistlebefore the second day was over. I declare I hardly dast to wake upmornin's for fear I'll find out our havin' such a smart feller isonly a dream and that the livin' calamity is Lute Small. And tothink, " he added, "that you knew about him for the land knows howlong and would only hint instead of tellin'. I don't know as you'dhave told yet if his sister hadn't told first. Eh? Would you?"

Jed deliberately picked a loose bristle from his paint brush. 

"Maybe not, " he admitted. 

"Gracious king! Well, WHY not?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm kind of--er--funny that way. Like to takemy own time, I guess likely. Maybe you've noticed it, Sam. "

"Eh? MAYBE I've noticed it? A blind cripple that was born deefand dumb would have noticed that the first time he ran across you. What on earth are you doin' to that paint brush; tryin' tomesmerize it?"

His friend, who had been staring mournfully at the brush, now laidit down. 

"I was tryin' to decide, " he drawled, "whether it needed hair tonicor a wig. So you like this Charlie Phillips, do you?"

"Sartin sure I do! And the customers like him, too. Why, oldMelissa Busteed was in yesterday and he waited on her for half anhour, seemed so, and when the agony was over neither one of 'em hadgot mad enough so anybody outside the buildin' would notice it. And that's a miracle that ain't happened in that bank for more'nONE year. Why, I understand Melissa went down street tellin' allhands what a fine young man we'd got workin' for us. . . . Here, what are you laughin' at?"

The word was ill-chosen; Jed seldom laughed, but he had smiledslightly and the captain noticed it. 

"What are you grinnin' at?" he repeated. 

Jed's hand moved across his chin. 

"Gab Bearse was in a spell ago, " he replied, "and he was tellin'about what Melissa said. "

"Well, she said what I just said she said, didn't she?"

Mr. Winslow nodded. "Um-hm, " he admitted, "she said--er--all ofthat. "

"All of it? Was there some more?"

"'Cordin' to Gabe there was. 'Cordin' to him she said . . . Shesaid . . . Er . . . Hum! this brush ain't much better'n the other. Seem to be comin' down with the mange, both of 'em. "

"Gracious king! Consarn the paint brushes! Tell me what Melissasaid. "

"Oh, yes, yes. . . . Well, 'cordin' to Gabe she said 'twas acomfort to know there was a place in this town where an unprotectedfemale could go and not be insulted. "

Captain Sam's laugh could have been heard across the road. 

"Ho, ho!" he roared. "An unprotected female, eh? 'Cordin' to mynotion it's the male that needs protection when Melissa's around. I've seen Lute Small standin' in the teller's cage, tongue-tied andwith the sweat standin' on his forehead, while Melissa gave him hercandid opinion of anybody that would vote to allow alcohol to besold by doctors in this town. And 'twas ten minutes of twelveSaturday mornin', too, and there was eight men waitin' their turnin line, and nary one of them or Lute either had the spunk to askMelissa to hurry. Ho, ho! 'unprotected female' is good!"

He had his laugh out and then added: "But there's no doubt thatCharlie's goin' to be popular with the women. Why, even Maud seemsto take a shine to him. Said she was surprised to have me showsuch good judgment. Course she didn't really mean she wassurprised, " he hastened to explain, evidently fearing that even anold friend like Jed might think he was criticizing his idolizeddaughter. "She was just teasin' her old dad, that's all. But Icould see that Charlie kind of pleased her. Well, he pleases meand he pleases the cashier and the directors. We agree, all of us, that we're mighty lucky. I gave you some of the credit for gettin'him for us, Jed, " he added magnanimously. "You don't reallydeserve much, because you hung back so and wouldn't tell his name, but I gave it to you just the same. What's a little credit betweenfriends, eh? That's what Bluey Batcheldor said the other day whenhe came in and wanted to borrow a hundred dollars on his personalnote. Ho! ho!"

Captain Sam's glowing opinion of his paragon was soon echoed by themajority of Orham's population. Charlie Phillips, although quietand inclined to keep to himself, was liked by almost every one. Inthe bank and out of it he was polite, considerate and alwaysagreeable. During these first days Jed fancied that he detected inthe young man a certain alert dread, a sense of being on guard, areserve in the presence of strangers, but he was not sure that thiswas anything more than fancy, a fancy inspired by the fact that heknew the boy's secret and was on the lookout for something of thesort. At all events no one else appeared to notice it and itbecame more and more evident that Charlie, as nine-tenths of Orhamcalled him within a fortnight, was destined to be the favorite herethat, according to his sister, he had been everywhere else. 

Of course there were a few who did not, or would not, like him. Luther Small, the deposed bank clerk, was bitter in his sneers andcaustic in his comments. However, as Lute loudly declared that hewas just going to quit anyhow, that he wouldn't have worked for oldHunniwell another week if he was paid a million a minute for it, his hatred of his successor seemed rather unaccountable. BarzillaSmall, Luther's fond parent, also professed intense dislike for theman now filling his son's position in the bank. "I don't know how'tis, " affirmed Barzilla, "but the fust time I see that youngupstart I says to myself: 'Young feller, you ain't my kind. ' Thisremark being repeated to Captain Sam, the latter observed: 'That'sgospel truth and thank the Lord for it. '"

Another person who refused to accept Phillips favorably was PhineasBabbitt. Phineas's bitterness was not the sort to sweeten overnight. He disliked the new bank clerk and he told Jed Winslow why. They met at the post office--Phineas had not visited the windmillshop since the day when he received the telegram notifying him ofhis son's enlistment--and some one of the group waiting for themail had happened to speak of Charlie Phillips. "He's a niceobligin' young chap, " said the speaker, Captain Jeremiah Burgess. "I like him fust-rate; everybody does, I guess. "

Mr. Babbitt, standing apart from the group, his bristling chinbeard moving as he chewed his eleven o'clock allowance of "Sailor'sSweetheart, " turned and snarled over his shoulder. 

"I don't, " he snapped. 

His tone was so sharp and his utterance so unexpected that CaptainJerry jumped. 

"Land of Goshen! You bark like a dog with a sore throat, " heexclaimed. "Why don't you like him?"

"'Cause I don't, that's all. "

"That ain't much of a reason, seems to me. What have you gotagainst him, Phin? You don't know anything to his discredit, doyou?"

"Never you mind whether I do or not. "

Captain Jerry grunted but seemed disinclined to press the pointfurther. Every one was surprised therefore when Jed Winslow movedacross to where Phineas was standing, and looking mildly down atthe little man, asked: "Do you know anything against him, Phin?"

"None of your business. What are you buttin' in for, Shavin's?"

"I ain't. I just asked you, that's all. DO you know anythingagainst Charlie Phillips?"

"None of your business, I tell you. "

"I know it ain't. But do you, Phin?"

Each repetition of the question had been made in the same mild, monotonous drawl. Captain Jerry and the other loungers burst intoa laugh. Mr. Babbitt's always simmering temper boiled over. 

"No, I don't, " he shouted. "But I don't know anything in hisfavor, neither. He's a pet of Sam Hunniwell and that's enough forme. Sam Hunniwell and every one of his chums can go to the devil. Every one of 'em; do you understand that, Jed Winslow?"

Jed rubbed his chin. The solemn expression of his face did notchange an atom. "Thank you, Phin, " he drawled. "When I'm ready tostart I'll get you to give me a letter of introduction. "

Jed had been fearful that her brother's coming might lessen theintimate quality of Ruth Armstrong's friendship with and dependenceupon him. He soon discovered, to his delight, that these fearswere groundless. He found that the very fact that Ruth had madehim her sole confidant provided a common bond which brought themcloser together. Ruth's pride in her brother's success at the bankand in the encomiums of the townsfolk had to find expressionsomewhere. She could express them to her landlord and she did. Almost every day she dropped in at the windmill shop for a moment'scall and chat, the subject of that chat always, of course, thesame. 

"I told you he would succeed, " she declared, her eyes shining andher face alight. "I told you so, Jed. And he has. Mr. Barber, the cashier, told me yesterday that Charles was the best man theyhad had in the bank for years. And every time I meet CaptainHunniwell he stops to shake hands and congratulates me on havingsuch a brother. And they like him, not only because he issuccessful in the bank, but for himself; so many people have toldme so. Why, for the first time since we came to Orham I begin tofeel as if I were becoming acquainted, making friends. "

Jed nodded. "He's a nice young chap, " he said, quietly. 

"Of course he is. . . . You mustn't mind my shameless familyboasting, " she added, with a little laugh. "It is only because Iam so proud of him, and so glad--so glad for us all. "

Jed did not mind. It is doubtful if at that moment he was aware ofwhat she was saying. He was thinking how her brother's coming hadimproved her, how well she was looking, how much more color therewas in her cheeks, and how good it was to hear her laugh once more. The windmill shop was a different place when she came. It was alucky day for him when the Powlesses frightened him into lettingBarbara and her mother move into the old house for a month's trial. 

Of course he did not express these thoughts aloud, in fact heexpressed nothing whatever. He thought and thought and, after atime, gradually became aware that there was absolute silence in theshop. He looked at his caller and found that she was regarding himintently, a twinkle in her eye and an amused expression about hermouth. He started and awoke from his day-dream. 

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Yes--yes, I guess so. "

She shook her head. 

"You do?" she said. "Why, I thought your opinion was exactly theopposite. "

"Eh? Oh, yes, so 'tis, so 'tis. "

"Of course. And just what did you say about it?"

Jed was confused. He swallowed hard, hesitated, swallowed againand stammered: "I-- Why, I--that is--you see--"

She laughed merrily. "You are a very poor pretender, Jed, " shedeclared. "Confess, you haven't the least idea what opinion Imean. "

"Well--well, to be right down honest, I--I don't know's I have, Mrs. Ruth. "

"Of course, you haven't. There isn't any opinion. You have beensitting there for the last five minutes, staring straight at me andpicking that paint brush to pieces. I doubt if you even knew I washere. "

"Eh? Oh, yes, I know that, I know that all right. Tut! tut!"inspecting the damaged brush. "That's a nice mess, ain't it? Nowwhat do you suppose I did that for? I'm scared to death, when Ihave one of those go-to-sleeptic fits, that I'll pick my head topieces. Not that that would be as big a loss as a good paintbrush, " he added, reflectively. 

His visitor smiled. "I think it would, " she said. "Neither Babbienor I could afford to lose that head; it and its owner have beentoo thoughtful and kind. But tell me, what WERE you thinking aboutjust then?"

The question appeared to embarrass Mr. Winslow a good deal. Hecolored, fidgeted and stammered. "Nothin', nothin' of anyaccount, " he faltered. "My--er--my brain was takin' a walk aroundmy attic, I cal'late. There's plenty of room up there for atramp. "

"No, tell me; I want to know. " Her expression changed and sheadded: "You weren't thinking of--of Charles'--his trouble atMiddleford? You don't still think me wrong in not telling CaptainHunniwell?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, no, no. I wasn't thinkin' that at all. "

"But you don't answer my question. Well, never mind. I am reallyalmost happy for the first time in ever so long and I mean toremain so if I can. I am glad I did not tell--glad. And you mustagree with me, Mr. Winslow--Jed, I mean--or I shall not run in sooften to talk in this confidential way. "

"Eh? Not run in? Godfreys, Mrs. Ruth, don't talk so! Excuse mystrong language, but you scared me, talkin' about not runnin' in. "

"You deserve to be scared, just a little, for criticizing me inyour thoughts. Oh, don't think me frivolous, " she pleaded, withanother swift change. "I realize it was all wrong. And some time, by and by, after Charles has firmly established himself, after theyreally know him, I shall go to the bank people, or he will go tothem, and tell the whole story. By that time I'm sure--I'm surethey will forgive us both. Don't you think so?"

Jed would have forgiven her anything. He nodded. 

"Sartin sure they will, " he said. Then, asking a question that hadbeen in his thoughts for some time, he said: "How does your brotherfeel about it himself, Mrs. Ruth?"

"At first he thought he should tell everything. He did not want totake the position under false pretenses, he said. But when Iexplained how he might lose this opportunity and what anopportunity it might be for us all he agreed that perhaps it wasbest to wait. And I am sure it is best, Jed. But then, I mean toput the whole dreadful business from my mind, if I can, and behappy with my little girl and my brother. And I am happy; I feelalmost like a girl myself. So you mustn't remind me, Jed, and youmustn't criticize me, even though you and I both know you areright. You are my only confidant, you know, and I don't know whatin the world I should do without you, so try to bear with me, ifyou can. "

Jed observed that he guessed likely there wouldn't be much troubleat his end of the line, providing she could manage to worry alongwith a feller that went to sleep sittin' up, and in the daytime, like an owl. After she had gone, however, he again relapsed intoslumber, and his dreams, judging by his expression, must have beenpleasant. 

That afternoon he had an unexpected visit. He had just finishedwashing his dinner dishes and he and Babbie were in the outer shoptogether, when the visitor came. Jed was droning "Old Hundred"with improvisations of his own, the said improvising having theeffect of slowing down the already extremely deliberate anthemuntil the result compared to the original was for speed, as anoyster scow compared to an electric launch. This musical crawl heused as an accompaniment to the sorting and piling of various partsof an order just received from a Southern resort. Barbara washelping him, at least she called her activities "helping. " WhenJed had finished counting a pile of vanes or mill parts she countedthem to make sure. Usually her count and his did not agree, soboth counted again, getting in each other's way and, as Mr. Winslowexpressed it, having a good time generally. And this remark, intended to be facetious, was after all pretty close to the literaltruth. Certainly Babbie was enjoying herself, and Jed, where animpatient man would have been frantic, was enjoying her enjoyment. Petunia, perched in lopsided fashion on a heap of mill-sides was, apparently, superintending. 

"There!" declared Jed, stacking a dozen sailors beside a dozen ofwhat the order called "birdhouses medium knocked down. " "There!that's the livin' last one, I do believe. Hi hum! Now we've gotto box 'em, haven't we? . . . Ye-es, yes, yes, yes. . . . Hum. . . . 

 "'Di--de--di--de--di--de. . . . "

"Where's that hammer? Oh, yes, here 'tis. "

 "'Di--de--di--de--'

"Now where on earth have I put that pencil, Babbie? Have Iswallowed it? DON'T tell me you've seen me swallow it, 'cause thatflavor of lead-pencil never did agree with me. "

The child burst into a trill of laughter. 

"Why, Uncle Jed, " she exclaimed, "there it is, behind your ear. "

"Is it? Sho, so 'tis! Now that proves the instinct of dumbanimals, don't it? That lead-pencil knew enough to realize that myear was so big that anything short of a cord-wood stick could hidebehind it. Tut, tut! Surprisin', surprisin'!"

"But, Uncle Jed, a pencil isn't an animal. "

"Eh? Ain't it? Seemed to me I'd read somethin' about the ragin'lead-pencil seekin' whom it might devour. But maybe that was a--er--lion or a clam or somethin'. "

Babbie looked at him in puzzled fashion for a moment. Then shesagely shook her head and declared: "Uncle Jed, I think you areperfectly scru-she-aking. Petunia and I are convulshed. We--" shestopped, listened, and then announced: "Uncle Jed, I THINK somebodycame up the walk. "

The thought received confirmation immediately in the form of aknock at the door. Jed looked over his spectacles. 

"Hum, " he mused, sadly, "there's no peace for the wicked, Babbie. No sooner get one order all fixed and out of the way than alongcomes a customer and you have to get another one ready. If I'dknown 'twas goin' to be like this I'd never have gone intobusiness, would you? But maybe 'tain't a customer, maybe it'sCap'n Sam or Gabe Bearse or somebody. . . . They wouldn't knock, though, 'tain't likely; anyhow Gabe wouldn't. . . . Come in, " hecalled, as the knock was repeated. 

The person who entered the shop was a tall man in uniform. Theafternoon was cloudy and the outer shop, piled high with stock andlumber, was shadowy. The man in uniform looked at Jed and Barbaraand they looked at him. He spoke first. 

"Pardon me, " he said, "but is your name Winslow?"

Jed nodded. "Yes, sir, " he replied, deliberately. "I guess likely'tis. "

"I have come here to see if you could let me have--"

Babbie interrupted him. Forgetting her manners in the excitementof the discovery which had just flashed upon her, she uttered anexclamation. 

"Oh, Uncle Jed!" she exclaimed. 

Jed, startled, turned toward her. 

"Yes?" he asked, hastily. "What's the matter?"

"Don't you know? He--he's the nice officer one. "

"Eh? The nice what? What are you talkin' about, Babbie?"

Babbie, now somewhat abashed and ashamed of her involuntaryoutburst, turned red and hesitated. 

"I mean, " she stammered, "I mean he--he's the--officer one that--that was nice to us that day. "

"That day? What day? . . . Just excuse the little girl, won'tyou?" he added, apologetically, turning to the caller. "She's madea mistake; she thinks she knows you, I guess. "

"But I DO, Uncle Jed. Don't you remember? Over at the flyingplace?"

The officer himself took a step forward. 

"Why, of course, " he said, pleasantly. "She is quite right. Ithought your faces were familiar. You and she were over at thecamp that day when one of our construction plans was lost. Shefound it for us. And Lieutenant Rayburn and I have been gratefulmany times since, " he added. 

Jed recognized him then. 

"Well, I snum!" he exclaimed. "Of course! Sartin! If it hadn'tbeen for you I'd have lost my life and Babbie'd have lost her clamchowder. That carpenter feller would have had me hung for a spy inten minutes more. I'm real glad to see you, Colonel--Colonel Wood. That's your name, if I recollect right. "

"Not exactly. My name is Grover, and I'm not a colonel, worseluck, only a major. "

"Sho! Grover, eh? Now how in the nation did I get it Wood? Oh, yes, I cal'late 'twas mixin' up groves and woods. Tut, tut!Wonder I didn't call you 'Pines' or 'Bushes' or somethin'. . . . But there, sit down, sit down. I'm awful glad you dropped in. I'dabout given up hopin' you would. "

He brought forward a chair, unceremoniously dumping two stacks ofcarefully sorted and counted vanes and sailors from its seat to thefloor prior to doing so. Major Grover declined to sit. 

"I should like to, but I mustn't, " he said. "And I shouldn't claimcredit for deliberately making you a social call. I came--that is, I was sent here on a matter of--er--well, first aid to the injured. I came to see if you would lend me a crank. "

Jed looked at him. "A--a what?" he asked. 

"A crank, a crank for my car. I motored over from the camp andstopped at the telegraph office. When I came out my car refused togo; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike. I had leftmy crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrowone somewhere. I asked the two or three fellows standing about thetelegraph office where I might be likely to find one. No oneseemed to know, but just then the old grouch--excuse me, person whokeeps the hardware store came along. "

"Eh? Phin Babbitt? Little man with the stub of a paint brushgrowin' on his chin?"

"Yes, that's the one. I asked him where I should be likely to finda crank. He said if I came across to this shop I ought to findone. "

"He did, eh? . . . Hum!"

"Yes, he did. So I came. "

"Hum!"

This observation being neither satisfying nor particularlyilluminating, Major Grover waited for something more explicit. Hewaited in vain; Mr. Winslow, his eyes fixed upon the toe of hisvisitor's military boot, appeared to be mesmerized. 

"So I came, " repeated the major, after an interval. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, yes. So you did, so you did. . . . Hum!"

He rose and, walking to the window, peeped about the edge of theshade across and down the road in the direction of the telegraphoffice. 

"Phineas, " he drawled, musingly, "and Squealer and Lute Small andBluey. Hu-u-m! . . . Yes, yes. "

He turned away from the window and began intoning a hymn. MajorGrover seemed to be divided between a desire to laugh and atendency toward losing patience. 

"Well, " he queried, after another interval, "about that crank?Have you one I might borrow? It may not fit, probably won't, but Ishould like to try it. "

Jed sighed. "There's a crank here, " he drawled, "but it wouldn'tbe much use around automobiles, I'm afraid. I'm it. "

"What? I don't understand. "

"I say I'm it. My pet name around Orham is town crank. That's whyPhineas sent you to my shop. He said you OUGHT to find a crankhere. He was right, I'm 'most generally in. "

This statement was made quietly, deliberately and with no trace ofresentment. Having made it, the speaker began picking up the vanesand sailors he had spilled when he proffered his visitor the chair. Major Grover colored, and frowned. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " he demanded, "that that fellow sent meover here because--because--"

"Because I'm town crank? Ye-es, that's what I mean. "

"Indeed! That is his idea of a joke, is it?"

"Seems to be. He's an awful comical critter, Phin Babbitt is--inhis own way. "

"Well, it's not my way. He sends me over here to make an ass ofmyself and insult you--"

"Now, now, Major, excuse me. Phin didn't have any idea that you'dinsult me. You see, " with the fleeting smile, "he wouldn't believeanybody could do that. "

Grover turned sharply to the door. Mr. Winslow spoke his name. 

"Er--Major Grover, " he said, gently, "I wouldn't. "

The major paused. "Wouldn't what?" he demanded. 

"Go over there and tell Phin and the rest what you think of 'em. If 'twould do 'em any good I'd say, 'For mercy sakes, go!' But'twouldn't; they wouldn't believe it. "

Grover's lips tightened. 

"Telling it might do ME some good, " he observed, significantly. 

"Yes, I know. But maybe we might get the same good or more in adifferent way. . . . Hum! . . . What--er--brand of automobile isyours?"

The major told him. Jed nodded. 

"Hum . . . Yes, " he drawled. "I see. . . . I see. "

Grover laughed. "I'll be hanged if I do!" he observed. 

"Eh! . . . Well, I tell you; you sit down and let Babbie talkPetunia to you a minute or two. I'll be right back. "

He hurried into the back shop, closing the door after him. Amoment later Grover caught a glimpse of him crossing the back yardand disappearing over the edge of the bluff. 

"Where in the world has the fellow gone?" he soliloquized aloud, amused although impatient. Barbara took it upon herself to answer. Uncle Jed had left the caller in her charge and she felt herresponsibilities. 

"He's gone down the shore path, " she said. "I don't know whereelse he's gone, but it's all right, anyway. "

"Oh, is it? You seem quite sure of it, young lady. "

"I am. Everything Uncle Jed does is right. Sometimes you don'tthink so at first, but it turns out that way. Mamma says he ispetunia--no, I mean peculiar but--but very--re-li-a-ble, " the lastword conquered after a visible struggle. "She says if you do whathe tells you to you will be 'most always glad. I think 'always'without any 'most, '" she added. 

Major Grover laughed. "That's a reputation for infallibility worthhaving, " he observed. 

Barbara did not know what he meant but she had no intention ofbetraying that fact. 

"Yes, " she agreed. A moment later she suggested: "Don't you thinkyou'd better sit down? He told you to, you know. "

"Great Scott, so he did! I must obey orders, mustn't I? But hetold you to talk--something or other to me, I think. What was it?"

"He told me to talk Petunia to you. There she is--up there. "

The major regarded Petunia, who was seated upon the heap of mill-sides, in a most haphazard and dissipated attitude. 

"She is my oldest daughter, " continued Barbara. "She's veryadvanced for her years. "

"Dear me!"

"Yes. And . . . Oh, here comes Mamma!"

Mrs. Armstrong entered the shop. The major rose. Barbara did thehonors. 

"I was just going to come in, Mamma, " she explained, "but Uncle Jedasked me to stay and talk to Mr. --I mean Major--Grover till he cameback. He's gone out, but he won't be long. Mamma, this is Mr. Major Grover, the one who kept Uncle Jed from being spied, over atthe flying place that day when I found the plan paper and he made ashingle boat sail out of it. "

Ruth came forward. She had been walking along the edge of thebluff, looking out over the tumbled gray and white water, and thelate October wind had tossed her hair and brought the color to hercheeks. She put out her hand. 

"Oh, yes, " she said. "How do you do, Major Grover? I have heard agreat deal about you since the day of Babbie's picnic. I'm sure Iowe you an apology for the trouble my small daughter must havecaused that day. "

She and the major shook hands. The latter expressed himself asbeing very glad to meet Mrs. Armstrong. He looked as if he meantit. 

"And no apologies are due, not from your side at least, " hedeclared. "If it had not been for your little girl our missingplan might have been missing yet. "

Fifteen minutes elapsed before the owner of the windmill shopreturned. When he did come hurrying up the bluff and in at theback door, heated and out of breath, no one seemed to have missedhim greatly. Major Grover, who might reasonably have been expectedto show some irritation at his long wait, appeared quite obliviousof the fact that he had waited at all. He and Barbara were seatedside by side upon a packing case, while Ruth occupied the chair. When Jed came panting in it was Babbie who greeted him. 

"Oh, Uncle Jed!" she exclaimed, "you just ought to have been here. Mr. --I mean Major Grover has been telling Mamma and me about goingup in a--in a diggible balloon. It was awf'ly interesting. Wasn'tit, Mamma?"

Her mother laughingly agreed that it was. Jed, whose hands werefull, deposited his burden upon another packing case. The saidburden consisted of no less than three motor car cranks. Groverregarded them with surprise. 

"Where in the world did you get those?" he demanded. "The last Isaw of you you were disappearing over that bank, apparently headedout to sea. Do you dig those things up on the flats hereabouts, like clams?"

Jed rubbed his chin. "Not's I know of, " he replied. "I borrowedthese down at Joshua Rogers' garage. "

"Rogers' garage?" repeated Grover. "That isn't near here, is it?"

"It is an eighth of a mile from here, " declared Ruth. "And notdown by the beach, either. What do you mean, Jed?"

Jed was standing by the front window, peeping out. "Um-hm, " hesaid, musingly, "they're still there, the whole lot of 'em, waitin'for you to come out, Major. . . . Hum . . . Dear, dear! Andthey're all doubled up now laughin' ahead of time. . . . Dear, dear! this is a world of disappointment, sure enough. "

"What ARE you talking about?" demanded Major Grover. 

"JED!" exclaimed Ruth. 

Barbara said nothing. She was accustomed to her Uncle Jed'svagaries and knew that, in his own good time, an explanation wouldbe forthcoming. It came now. 

"Why, you see, " said Jed, "Phin Babbitt and the rest sendin' youover here to find a crank was their little joke. They're enjoyin'it now. The one thing needed to make 'em happy for life is to seeyou come out of here empty-handed and so b'ilin' mad that you frothover. If you come out smilin' and with what you came after, why--why, then the cream of their joke has turned a little sour, as youmight say. See?"

Grover laughed. "Yes, I see that plain enough, " he agreed. "AndI'm certainly obliged to you. I owed those fellows one. But whatI don't see is how you got those cranks by going down to theseashore. "

"W-e-e-ll, if I'd gone straight up the road to Rogers's our jokin'friends would have known that's where the cranks came from. Iwanted 'em to think they came from right here. So I went over thebank back of the shop, where they couldn't see me, along the beachtill I got abreast of Joshua's and then up across lots. I cameback the way I went. I hope those things 'll fit, Major. One of'em will, I guess likely. "

The major laughed again. "I certainly am obliged to you, Mr. Winslow, " he said. "And I must say you took a lot of trouble on myaccount. "

Jed sighed, although there was a little twinkle in his eye. 

"'Twan't altogether on your account, " he drawled. "I owed 'em one, same as you did. I was the crank they sent you to. "

Their visitor bade Barbara and her mother good afternoon, gatheredup his cranks and turned to the door. 

"I'll step over and start the car, " he said. "Then I'll come backand return these things. "

Jed shook his head. "I wouldn't, " he said. "You may stop againbefore you get back to Bayport. Rogers is in no hurry for 'em, hesaid so. You take 'em along and fetch 'em in next time you'reover. I want you to call again anyhow and these cranks 'll make agood excuse for doin' it, " he added. 

"Oh, I see. Yes, so they will. With that understanding I'll takethem along. Thanks again and good afternoon. "

He hastened across the street. The two in the shop watched fromthe window until the car started and moved out of sight. The groupby the telegraph office seemed excited about something; theylaughed no longer and there was considerable noisy argument. 

Jed's lip twitched. "'The best laid plans of mice--and skunks, '"he quoted, solemnly. "Hm! . . . That Major Grover seems like agood sort of chap. "

"I think he's awful nice, " declared Babbie. 

Ruth said nothing. 

CHAPTER XIII

October passed and November came. The very last of the summercottages were closed. Orham settled down for its regular winterhibernation. This year it was a bit less of a nap than usualbecause of the activity at the aviation camp at East Harniss. Theswarm of carpenters, plumbers and mechanics was larger than everthere now and the buildings were hastening toward completion, forthe first allotment of aviators, soldiers and recruits was due toarrive in March. Major Grover was a busy and a worried man, but heusually found time to drop in at the windmill shop for a moment ortwo on each of his brief motor trips to Orham. Sometimes he foundJed alone, more often Barbara was there also, and, semi-occasionally, Ruth. The major and Charles Phillips met andappeared to like each other. Charles was still on the rising tideof local popularity. Even Gabe Bearse had a good word to say forhim among the many which he said concerning him. Phineas Babbitt, however, continued to express dislike, or, at the most, indifference. 

"I'm too old a bird, " declared the vindictive little hardwaredealer, "to bow down afore a slick tongue and a good-lookin'figgerhead. He's one of Sam Hunniwell's pets and that's enough forme. Anybody that ties up to Sam Hunniwell must have a rotten plankin 'em somewheres; give it time and 'twill come out. "

Charles and Jed Winslow were by this time good friends. The youngman usually spent at least a few minutes of each day chatting withhis eccentric neighbor. They were becoming more intimate, at timesalmost confidential, although Phillips, like every other friend oracquaintance of "Shavings" Winslow, was inclined to patronize orcondescend a bit in his relations with the latter. No one took thewindmill maker altogether seriously, not even Ruth Armstrong, although she perhaps came nearest to doing so. Charles would dropin at the shop of a morning, in the interval between breakfast andbank opening, and, perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench, would discuss various things. He and Jed were alike in onecharacteristic--each had the habit of absent-mindedness and lapsinginto silence in the middle of a conversation. Jed's lapses, ofcourse, were likely to occur in the middle of a sentence, even inthe middle of a word; with the younger man the symptoms were not soacute. 

"Well, Charlie, " observed Mr. Winslow, on one occasion, a rawNovember morning of the week before Thanksgiving, "how's the bankgettin' along?"

Charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had been oflate. He appeared to be somewhat reflective, even somber. Jed, onthe lookout for just such symptoms, was trying to cheer him up. 

"Oh, all right enough, I guess, " was the reply. 

"Like your work as well as ever, don't you?"

"Yes--oh, yes, I like it, what there is of it. It isn't what you'dcall strenuous. "

"No, I presume likely not, but I shouldn't wonder if they gave yousomethin' more responsible some of these days. They know you're upto doin' it; Cap'n Sam's told me so more'n once. "

Here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. Phillips saidnothing for a minute or more. Then he asked: "What sort of a manis Captain Hunniwell?"

"Eh? What sort of a man? You ought to know him yourself prettywell by this time. You see more of him every day than I do. "

"I don't mean as a business man or anything like that. I mean whatsort of man is he--er--inside? Is he always as good-natured as heseems? How is he around his own house? With his daughter--or--orthings like that? You've known him all your life, you know, and Ihaven't. "

"Um--ye-es--yes, I've known Sam for a good many years. He's squareall through, Sam is. Honest as the day is long and--"

Charles stirred uneasily. "I know that, of course, " he interrupted. "I wasn't questioning his honesty. "

Jed's tender conscience registered a pang. The reference tohonesty had not been made with any ulterior motive. 

"Sartin, sartin, " he said; "I know you wasn't, Charlie, course Iknow that. You wanted to know what sort of a man Sam was in hisfamily and such, I judge. Well, he's a mighty good father--almosttoo good, I suppose likely some folks would say. He just bows downand worships that daughter of his. Anything Maud wants that he cangive her she can have. And she wants a good deal, I will give in, "he added, with his quiet drawl. 

His caller did not speak. Jed whistled a few mournful bars andsharpened a chisel on an oilstone. 

"If John D. Vanderbilt should come around courtin' Maud, " he wenton, after a moment, "I don't know as Sam would cal'late he was goodenough for her. Anyhow he'd feel that 'twas her that was doin' thefavor, not John D. . . . And I guess he'd be right; I don't knowany Vanderbilts, but I've known Maud since she was a baby. She's a--"

He paused, inspecting a nick in the chisel edge. Again Phillipsshifted in his seat on the edge of the workbench. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Eh?" Jed looked up in mild inquiry. "What is it?" he said. 

"That's what I want to know--what is it? You were talking aboutMaud Hunniwell. You said you had known her since she was a babyand that she was--something or other; that was as far as you got. "

"Sho! . . . Hum. . . . Oh, yes, yes; I was goin' to say she was amighty nice girl, as nice as she is good-lookin' and lively. There's a dozen young chaps in this county crazy about her thisminute, but there ain't any one of 'em good enough for her. . . . Hello, you goin' so soon? 'Tisn't half-past nine yet, is it?"

Phillips did not answer. His somber expression was still inevidence. Jed would have liked to cheer him up, but he did notknow how. However he made an attempt by changing the subject. 

"How is Babbie this mornin'?" he asked. 

"She's as lively as a cricket, of course. And full of excitement. She's going to school next Monday, you know. You'll rather missher about the shop here, won't you?"

"Miss her! My land of Goshen! I shouldn't be surprised if Ifollered her to school myself, like Mary's little lamb. Miss her!Don't talk!"

"Well, so long. . . . What is it?"

"Eh?"

"What is it you want to say? You look as if you wanted to saysomething. "

"Do I? . . . Hum. . . . Oh, 'twasn't anything special. . . . How's--er--how's your sister this mornin'?"

"Oh, she's well. I haven't seen her so well since--that is, for along time. You've made a great hit with Sis, Jed, " he added, witha laugh. "She can't say enough good things about you. Says youare her one dependable in Orham, or something like that. "

Jed's face turned a bright red. "Oh, sho, sho!" he protested, "shemustn't talk that way. I haven't done anything. "

"She says you have. Well, by-by. "

He went away. It was some time before Jed resumed his chisel-sharpening. 

Later, when he came to reflect upon his conversation with youngPhillips there were one or two things about it which puzzled him. They were still puzzling him when Maud Hunniwell came into theshop. Maud, in a new fall suit, hat and fur, was a picture, a factof which she was as well aware as the next person. Jed, as always, was very glad to see her. 

"Well, well!" he exclaimed. "Talk about angels and--and they flyin, so to speak. Real glad to see you, Maud. Sit down, sit down. There's a chair 'round here somewheres. Now where--? Oh, yes, I'msittin' in it. Hum! That's one of the reasons why I didn't seeit, I presume likely. You take it and I'll fetch another from thekitchen. No, I won't, I'll sit on the bench. . . . Hum . . . Hasyour pa got any money left in that bank of his?"

Miss Hunniwell was, naturally, surprised at the question. 

"Why, I hope so, " she said. "Did you think he hadn't?"

"W-e-e-ll, I didn't know. That dress of yours, and that newbonnet, must have used up consider'ble, to say nothin' of thatwoodchuck you've got 'round your neck. 'Tis a woodchuck, ain'tit?" he added, solemnly. 

"Woodchuck! Well, I like that! If you knew what a silver foxcosts and how long I had to coax before I got this one you would bemore careful in your language, " she declared, with a toss of herhead. 

Jed sighed. "That's the trouble with me, " he observed. "I neverknow enough to pick out the right things--or folks--to be carefulwith. If I set out to be real toady and humble to what I think isa peacock it generally turns out to be a Shanghai rooster. And thesame when it's t'other way about. It's a great gift to be able totell the real--er--what is it?--gold foxes from the woodchucks inthis life. I ain't got it and that's one of the two hundredthousand reasons why I ain't rich. "

He began to hum one of his doleful melodies. Maud laughed. 

"Mercy, what a long sermon!" she exclaimed. "No wonder you sing ahymn after it. "

Jed sniffed. "Um . . . Ye-es, " he drawled. "If I was moreworldly-minded I'd take up a collection, probably. Well, how's allthe United States Army; the gold lace part of it, I mean?"

His visitor laughed again. "Those that I know seem to be very welland happy, " she replied. 

"Um . . . Yes . . . Sartin. They'd be happy, naturally. How couldthey help it, under the circumstances?"

He began picking over an assortment of small hardware, varying hismusical accompaniment by whistling instead of singing. His visitorlooked at him rather oddly. 

"Jed, " she observed, "you're changed. "

Changed? I ain't changed my clothes, if that's what you mean. Course if I'd know I was goin' to have bankers' daughters withgold--er--muskrats 'round their necks come to see me I'd havedressed up. "

"Oh, I don't mean your clothes. I mean you--yourself--you'vechanged. "

"I've changed! How, for mercy sakes?"

"Oh, lots of ways. You pay the ladies compliments now. Youwouldn't have done that a year ago. "

"Eh? Pay compliments? I'm afraid you're mistaken. Your pa saysI'm so absent-minded and forgetful that I don't pay some of mybills till the folks I owe 'em to make proclamations they're goin'to sue me; and other bills I pay two or three times over. "

"Don't try to escape by dodging the subject. You HAVE changed inthe last few months. I think, " holding the tail of the silver foxbefore her face and regarding him over it, "I think you must be inlove. "

"Eh?" Jed looked positively frightened. "In love!"

"Yes. You're blushing now. "

"Now, now, Maud, that ain't--that's sunburn. "

"No, it's not sunburn. Who is it, Jed?" mischievously. "Is it thepretty widow? Is it Mrs. Armstrong?"

A good handful of the hardware fell to the floor. Jed thankfullyscrambled down to pick it up. Miss Hunniwell, expressingcontrition at being indirectly responsible for the mishap, offeredto help him. He declined, of course, but in the little argumentwhich followed the dangerous and embarrassing topic was forgotten. It was not until she was about to leave the shop that Maud againmentioned the Armstrong name. And then, oddly enough, it was she, not Mr. Winslow, who showed embarrassment. 

"Jed, " she said, "what do you suppose I came here for this morning?"

Jed's reply was surprisingly prompt. 

"To show your new rig-out, of course, " he said. "'Vanity ofvanities, all is vanity. ' There, NOW I can take up a collection, can't I?"

His visitor pouted. "If you do I shan't put anything in the box, "she declared. "The idea of thinking that I came here just to showoff my new things. I've a good mind not to invite you at all now. "

She doubtless expected apologies and questions as to whatinvitation was meant. They might have been forthcoming had not thewindmill maker been engaged just at that moment in gazingabstractedly at the door of the little stove which heated, or wasintended to heat, the workshop. He did not appear to have heardher remark, so the young lady repeated it. Still he paid noattention. Miss Maud, having inherited a goodly share of theHunniwell disposition, demanded an explanation. 

"What in the world is the matter with you?" she asked. "Why areyou staring at that stove?"

Jed started and came to life. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, I wasthinkin' what an everlastin' nuisance 'twas--the stove, I mean. Itneeds more wood about every five minutes in the day, seems to--needs it now, that's what made me think of it. I was justwonderin' if 'twouldn't be a good notion to set it up out in theyard. "

"Out in the yard? Put the stove out in the yard? For goodness'sake, what for?"

Jed clasped his knee in his hand and swung his foot back and forth. 

"Oh" he drawled, "if 'twas out in the yard I shouldn't know whetherit needed wood or not, so 'twouldn't be all the time botherin' me. "

However, he rose and replenished the stove. Miss Hunniwelllaughed. Then she said: "Jed, you don't deserve it, because youdidn't hear me when I first dropped the hint, but I came herewith an invitation for you. Pa and I expect you to eat yourThanksgiving dinner with us. "

If she had asked him to eat it in jail Jed could not have been moredisturbed. 

"Now--now, Maud, " he stammered, "I--I'm ever so much obliged toyou, but I--I don't see how--"

"Nonsense! I see how perfectly well. You always act just this waywhenever I invite you to anything. You're not afraid of Pa or me, are you?"

"W-e-e-ll, well, I ain't afraid of your Pa 's I know of, but ofcourse, when such a fascinatin' young woman as you comes along, allrigged up to kill, why, it's natural that an old single relic likeme should get kind of nervous. "

Maud clasped her hands. "Oh, " she cried, "there's anothercompliment! You HAVE changed, Jed. I'm going to ask Father whatit means. "

This time Jed was really alarmed. "Now, now, now, " he protested, "don't go tell your Pa yarns about me. He'll come in here andpester me to death. You know what a tease he is when he getsstarted. Don't, Maud, don't. "

She looked hugely delighted at the prospect. Her eyes sparkledwith mischief. "I certainly shall tell him, " she declared, "unlessyou promise to eat with us on Thanksgiving Day. Oh, come along, don't be so silly. You've eaten at our house hundreds of times. "

This was a slight exaggeration. Jed had eaten there possibly fivetimes in the last five years. He hesitated. 

"Ain't goin' to be any other company, is there?" he asked, after amoment. It was now that Maud showed her first symptoms ofembarrassment. 

"Why, " she said, twirling the fox tail and looking at the floor, "there may be one or two more. I thought--I mean Pa and I thoughtperhaps we might invite Mrs. Armstrong and Babbie. You know them, Jed, so they won't be like strangers. And Pa thinks Mrs. Armstrongis a very nice lady, a real addition to the town; I've heard himsay so often, " she added, earnestly. 

Jed was silent. She looked up at him from under the brim of thenew hat. 

"You wouldn't mind them, Jed, would you?" she asked. "Theywouldn't be like strangers, you know. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "I--I don't know's I would, " he mused, "always providin' they didn't mind me. But I don't cal'late Mrs. Ruth--Mrs. Armstrong, I mean--would want to leave Charlie to homealone on Thanksgivin' Day. If she took Babbie, you know, therewouldn't be anybody left to keep him company. "

Miss Hunniwell twirled the fox tail in an opposite direction. "Oh, of course, " she said, with elaborate carelessness, "we shouldinvite Mrs. Armstrong's brother if we invited her. Of course weshould HAVE to do that. "

Jed nodded, but he made no comment. His visitor watched him frombeneath the hat brim. 

"You--you haven't any objection to Mr. Phillips, have you?" shequeried. 

"Eh? Objections? To Charlie? Oh, no, no. "

"You like him, don't you? Father likes him very much. "

"Yes, indeed; like him fust-rate. All hands like Charlie, thewomen-folks especially. "

There was a perceptible interval before Miss Hunniwell spoke again. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. 

"Eh? Oh, nothin', except that, accordin' to your dad, he's a'specially good hand at waitin' on the women and girls up at thebank, polite and nice to 'em, you know. He's even made a hit withold Melissy Busteed, and it takes a regular feller to do that. "

He would not promise to appear at the Hunniwell home onThanksgiving, but he did agree to think it over. Maud had to becontent with that. However, she declared that she should take hisacceptance for granted. 

"We shall set a place for you, " she said. "Of course you'll come. It will be such a nice party, you and Pa and Mrs. Armstrong and Iand little Babbie. Oh, we'll have great fun, see if we don't. "

"And Charlie; you're leavin' out Charlie, " Jed reminded her. 

"Oh, yes, so I was. Well, I suppose he'll come, too. Good-by. "

She skipped away, waving him a farewell with the tail of the silverfox. Jed, gazing after her, rubbed his chin reflectively. 

His indecision concerning the acceptance of the Hunniwellinvitation lasted until the day before Thanksgiving. Then Barbaraadded her persuasions to those of Captain Sam and his daughter andhe gave in. 

"If you don't go, Uncle Jed, " asserted Babbie, "we're all goin' tobe awfully disappointed, 'specially me and Petunia--and Mamma--andUncle Charlie. "

"Oh, then the rest of you folks won't care, I presume likely?"

Babbie thought it over. "Why, there aren't any more of us, " shesaid. "Oh, I see! You're joking again, aren't you, Uncle Jed?'Most everybody I know laughs when they make jokes, but you don't, you look as if you were going to cry. That's why I don't laughsometimes right off, " she explained, politely. "If you was reallyfeeling so bad it wouldn't be nice to laugh, you know. "

Jed laughed then, himself. "So Petunia would feel bad if I didn'tgo to Sam's, would she?" he inquired. 

"Yes, " solemnly. "She told me she shouldn't eat one single thingif you didn't go. She's a very high-strung child. "

That settled it. Jed argued that Petunia must on no account bestrung higher than she was and consented to dine at theHunniwells'. 

The day before Thanksgiving brought another visitor to the windmillshop, one as welcome as he was unexpected. Jed, hearing the doorto the stock room open, shouted "Come in" from his seat at theworkbench in the inner room. When his summons was obeyed he lookedup to see a khaki-clad figure advancing with extended hand. 

"Why, hello, Major!" he exclaimed. "I'm real glad to-- Eh, 'tain't Major Grover, is it? Who-- Why, Leander Babbitt! Well, well, well!"

Young Babbitt was straight and square-shouldered and brown. Military training and life at Camp Devens had wrought the miraclein his case which it works in so many. Jed found it hard torecognize the stoop-shouldered son of the hardware dealer in thespruce young soldier before him. When he complimented Leander uponthe improvement the latter disclaimed any credit. 

"Thank the drill master second and yourself first, Jed, " he said. "They'll make a man of a fellow up there at Ayer if he'll give 'emhalf a chance. Probably I shouldn't have had the chance if ithadn't been for you. You were the one who really put me up toenlisting. "

Jed refused to listen. "Can't make a man out of a punkinhead, " heasserted. "If you hadn't had the right stuff in you, Leander, drill masters nor nobody else could have fetched it out. How doyou like belongin' to Uncle Sam?"

Young Babbitt liked it and said so. "I feel as if I were doingsomething at last, " he said; "as if I was part of the biggest thingin the world. Course I'm only a mighty little part, but, afterall, it's something. "

Jed nodded, gravely. "You bet it's somethin', " he argued. "It's alot, a whole lot. I only wish I was standin' alongside of you inthe ranks, Leander. . . . I'd be a sight, though, wouldn't I?" headded, his lip twitching in the fleeting smile. "What do you thinkthe Commodore, or General, or whoever 'tis bosses things at thecamp, would say when he saw me? He'd think the flagpole had grownfeet, and was walkin' round, I cal'late. "

He asked his young friend what reception he met with upon hisreturn home. Leander smiled ruefully. 

"My step-mother seemed glad enough to see me, " he said. "She and Ihad some long talks on the subject and I think she doesn't blame memuch for going into the service. I told her the whole story and, down in her heart, I believe she thinks I did right. "

Jed nodded. "Don't see how she could help it, " he said. "How doesyour dad take it?"

Leander hesitated. "Well, " he said, "you know Father. He doesn'tchange his mind easily. He and I didn't get as close together as Iwish we could. And it wasn't my fault that we didn't, " he added, earnestly. 

Jed understood. He had known Phineas Babbitt for many years and heknew the little man's hard, implacable disposition and the violenceof his prejudices. 

"Um-hm, " he said. "All the same, Leander, I believe your fatherthinks more of you than he does of anything else on earth. "

"I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Jed. But on the other handI'm afraid he and I will never be the same after I come back fromthe war--always providing I do come back, of course. "

"Sshh, sshh! Don't talk that way. Course you'll come back. "

"You never can tell. However, if I knew I wasn't going to, itwouldn't make any difference in my feelings about going. I'm gladI enlisted and I'm mighty thankful to you for backing me up in it. I shan't forget it, Jed. "

"Sho, sho! It's easy to tell other folks what to do. That's howthe Kaiser earns his salary; only he gives advice to the Almighty, and I ain't got as far along as that yet. "

They discussed the war in general and by sections. Just before heleft, young Babbitt said:

"Jed, there is one thing that worries me a little in connectionwith Father. He was bitter against the war before we went into itand before he and Cap'n Sam Hunniwell had their string of rows. Since then and since I enlisted he has been worse than ever. Thethings he says against the government and against the country makeME want to lick him--and I'm his own son. I am really scared forfear he'll get himself jailed for being a traitor or something ofthat sort. "

Mr. Winslow asked if Phineas' feeling against Captain Hunniwell hadsoftened at all. Leander's reply was a vigorous negative. 

"Not a bit, " he declared. "He hates the cap'n worse than ever, ifthat's possible, and he'll do him some bad turn some day, if hecan, I'm afraid. You must think it's queer my speaking this way ofmy own father, " he added. "Well, I don't to any one else. Somehowa fellow always feels as if he could say just what he thinks toyou, Jed Winslow. I feel that way, anyhow. "

He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early November twilight. Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving dinner at home and then leavefor camp on the afternoon train. 

"Well, good-by, " he said. 

Jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp. 

"Oh, don't say good-by; it's just 'See you later, '" he replied. 

Leander smiled. "Of course. Well, then, see you later, Jed. We'll write once in a while; eh?"

Jed promised. The young fellow strode off into the dusk. Somehow, with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, heseemed to typify Young America setting cheerfully forth to face--anything--that Honor and Decency may still be more than empty wordsin this world of ours. 

CHAPTER XIV

The Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. EvenCaptain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professedto do so with reluctance. 

"Yes, " he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of hisguests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' everything. Ofcourse 'tain't what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy's eatin'-house on Atlantic Avenue, but it's pretty good--as I say, wheneverything's considered. "

His daughter was highly indignant. "Do you mean to say that thisdinner isn't as good as those you used to get at that Bostonrestaurant, Pa?" she demanded. "Don't you dare say such a thing. "

Her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn. 

"Well, " he observed, "as a boy I was brought up to always speak thetruth and I've tried to live up to my early trainin'. Speakin' asa truthful man, then, I'm obliged to say that this dinner ain'tlike those I used to get at Sam Coy's. "

Ruth put in a word. "Well, then, Captain Hunniwell, " she said, "Ithink the restaurant you refer to must be one of the best in theworld. "

Before the captain could reply, Maud did it for him. 

"Mrs. Armstrong, " she cautioned, "you mustn't take my father tooseriously. He dearly loves to catch people with what he hopes is ajoke. For a minute he caught even me this time, but I see throughhim now. He didn't say the dinner at his precious restaurant wasBETTER than this one, he said it wasn't like it, that's all. Whichis probably true, " she added, with withering scorn. "But what Ishould like to know is what he means by his 'everythingconsidered. '"

Her father's gravity was unshaken. "Well, " he said, "all I meantwas that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin' who wasresponsible for gettin' it up. "

"I see, I see. Mrs. Ellis, our housekeeper, and I are responsible, Mrs. Armstrong, so you understand now who he is shooting at. Verywell, Pa, " she added, calmly, "the rest of us will have our dessertnow. You can get yours at Sam Coy's. "

The dessert was mince pie and a Boston frozen pudding, the latteran especial favorite of Captain Sam's. He capitulated at once. 

"'Kamerad! Kamerad!'" he cried, holding up both hands. "That'swhat the Germans say when they surrender, ain't it? I give in, Maud. You can shoot me against a stone wall, if you want to, onlygive me my frozen puddin' first. It ain't so much that I like thepuddin', " he explained to Mrs. Armstrong, "but I never can make outwhether it's flavored with tansy or spearmint. Maud won't tell me, but I know it's somethin' old-fashioned and reminds me of mygrandmother; or, maybe, it's my grandfather; come to think, I guesslikely 'tis. "

Ruth grasped his meaning later when she tasted the pudding andfound it flavored with New England rum. 

After dinner they adjourned to the parlor. Maud, being coaxed byher adoring father, played the piano. Then she sang. Then theyall sang, all except Jed and the captain, that is. The latterdeclared that his voice had mildewed in the damp weather they hadbeen having lately, and Jed excused himself on the ground that hehad been warned not to sing because it was not healthy. 

Barbara was surprised and shocked. 

"Why, Uncle Jed!" she cried. "You sing EVER so much. I heard yousinging this morning. "

Jed nodded. "Ye-es, " he drawled, "but I was alone then and I'mliable to take chances with my own health. Bluey Batcheldor was inthe shop last week, though, when I was tunin' up and it disagreedwith HIM. "

"I don't believe it, Uncle Jed, " with righteous indignation. "Howdo you know it did?"

"'Cause he said so. He listened a spell, and then said I made himsick, so I took his word for it. "

Captain Sam laughed uproariously. "You must be pretty bad then, Jed, " he declared. "Anybody who disagrees with Bluey Batcheldormust be pretty nigh the limit. "

Jed nodded. "Um-hm, " he said, reflectively, "pretty nigh, but notquite. Always seemed to me the real limit was anybody who agreedwith him. "

So Jed, with Babbie on his knee, sat in the corner of the baywindow looking out on the street, while Mrs. Armstrong and herbrother and Miss Hunniwell played and sang and the captainapplauded vigorously and loudly demanded more. After a time Ruthleft the group at the piano and joined Jed and her daughter by thewindow. Captain Hunniwell came a few minutes later. 

"Make a good-lookin' couple, don't they?" he whispered, bendingdown, and with a jerk of his head in the direction of themusicians. "Your brother's a fine-lookin' young chap, Mrs. Armstrong. And he acts as well as he looks. Don't know when I'vetaken such a shine to a young feller as I have to him. Yes, ma'am, they make a good-lookin' couple, even if one of 'em is mydaughter. "

The speech was made without the slightest thought or suggestion ofanything but delighted admiration and parental affection. Nevertheless, Ruth, to whom it was made, started slightly, and, turning, regarded the pair at the piano. Maud was fingering thepages of a book of college songs and looking smilingly up into theface of Charles Phillips, who was looking down into hers. Therewas, apparently, nothing in the picture--a pretty one, by the way--to cause Mrs. Armstrong to gaze so fixedly or to bring the slightfrown to her forehead. After a moment she turned toward JedWinslow. Their eyes met and in his she saw the same startled hintof wonder, of possible trouble, she knew he must see in hers. Thenthey both looked away. 

Captain Hunniwell prated proudly on, chanting praises of hisdaughter's capabilities and talents, as he did to any one who wouldlisten, and varying the monotony with occasional references to thewonderful manner in which young Phillips had "taken hold" at thebank. Ruth nodded and murmured something from time to time, but toany one less engrossed by his subject than the captain it wouldhave been evident she was paying little attention. Jed, who wasbeing entertained by Babbie and Petunia, was absently pretending tobe much interested in a fairy story which the former wasimprovising--she called the process "making up as I go along"--forhis benefit. Suddenly he leaned forward and spoke. 

"Sam, " he said, "there's somebody comin' up the walk. I didn't geta good sight of him, but it ain't anybody that lives here in Orhamregular. "

"Eh? That so?" demanded the captain. "How do you know 'tain't ifyou didn't see him?"

"'Cause he's comin' to the front door, " replied Mr. Winslow, withunanswerable logic. "There he is now, comin' out from astern ofthat lilac bush. Soldier, ain't he?"

It was Ruth Armstrong who first recognized the visitor. "Why, " sheexclaimed, "it is Major Grover, isn't it?"

The major it was, and a moment later Captain Hunniwell ushered himinto the room. He had come to Orham on an errand, he explained, and had stopped at the windmill shop to see Mr. Winslow. Findingthe latter out, he had taken the liberty of following him to theHunniwell home. 

"I'm going to stay but a moment, Captain Hunniwell, " he went on. "I wanted to talk with Winslow on a--well, on a business matter. Of course I won't do it now but perhaps we can arrange a timeconvenient for us both when I can. "

"Don't cal'late there'll be much trouble about that, " observed thecaptain, with a chuckle. "Jed generally has time convenient for'most everybody; eh, Jed?"

Jed nodded. "Um-hm, " he drawled, "for everybody but Gab Bearse. "

"So you and Jed are goin' to talk business, eh?" queried CaptainSam, much amused at the idea. "Figgerin' to have him rig upwindmills to drive those flyin' machines of yours, Major?"

"Not exactly. My business was of another kind, and probably notvery important, at that. I shall probably be over here again onMonday, Winslow. Can you see me then?"

Jed rubbed his chin. "Ye-es, " he said, "I'll be on privateexhibition to my friends all day. And children half price, " headded, giving Babbie a hug. "But say, Major, how in the world didyou locate me to-day? How did you know I was over here to Sam's?I never told you I was comin', I'll swear to that. "

For some reason or other Major Grover seemed just a littleembarrassed. 

"Why no, " he said, stammering a trifle, "you didn't tell me, butsome one did. Now, who--"

"I think I told you, Major, " put in Ruth Armstrong. "Last evening, when you called to--to return Charlie's umbrella. I told you wewere to dine here to-day and that Jed--Mr. Winslow--was to dinewith us. Don't you remember?"

Grover remembered perfectly then, of course. He hastened toexplain that, having borrowed the umbrella of Charles Phillips theprevious week, he had dropped in on his next visit to Orham toreturn it. 

Jed grunted. 

"Humph!" he said, "you never came to see me last night. When youwas as close aboard as next door seems's if you might. "

The major laughed. "Well, you'll have to admit that I came to-day, " he said. 

"Yes, " put in Captain Sam, "and, now you are here, you're goin' tostay a spell. Oh, yes, you are, too. Uncle Sam don't need you sohard that he can't let you have an hour or so off on ThanksgivingDay. Maud, why in time didn't we think to have Major Grover herefor dinner along with the rest of the folks? Say, couldn't you eata plate of frozen puddin' right this minute? We've got some onhand that tastes of my grandfather, and we want to get rid of it. "

Their caller laughingly declined the frozen pudding, but he wasprevailed upon to remain and hear Miss Hunniwell play. So Maudplayed and Charles turned the music for her, and Major Groverlistened and talked with Ruth Armstrong in the intervals betweenselections. And Jed and Barbara chatted and Captain Sam beamedgood humor upon every one. It was a very pleasant, happyafternoon. War and suffering and heartache and trouble seemed along, long way off. 

On the way back to the shop in the chill November dusk Grover toldJed a little of what he had called to discuss with him. If Jed'smind had been of the super-critical type it might have deemed thesubject of scarcely sufficient importance to warrant the major'spursuing him to the Hunniwells'. It was simply the subject ofPhineas Babbitt and the latter's anti-war utterances and surmiseddisloyalty. 

"You see, " explained Grover, "some one evidently has reported theold chap to the authorities as a suspicious person. Thegovernment, I imagine, isn't keen on sending a special investigatordown here, so they have asked me to look into the matter. I don'tknow much about Babbitt, but I thought you might. Is he disloyal, do you think?"

Jed hesitated. Things the hardware dealer had said had beenreported to him, of course; but gossip--particularly the Bearsebrand of gossip--was not the most reliable of evidence. Then heremembered his own recent conversation with Leander and thelatter's expressed fear that his father might get into trouble. Jed determined, for the son's sake, not to bring that troublenearer. 

"Well, Major, " he answered, "I shouldn't want to say that he was. Phineas talks awful foolish sometimes, but I shouldn't wonder ifthat was his hot head and bull temper as much as anything else. Asto whether he's anything more than foolish or not, course Icouldn't say sartin, but I don't think he's too desperate to berunnin' loose. I cal'late he won't put any bombs underneath thetown hall or anything of that sort. Phin and his kind remind mesome of that new kind of balloon you was tellin' me they'd probablyhave over to your camp when 'twas done, that--er--er--dirigible;wasn't that what you called it?"

"Yes. But why does Babbitt remind you of a dirigible balloon? Idon't see the connection. "

"Don't you? Well, seems's if I did. Phin fills himself up withthe gas he gets from his Anarchist papers and magazines--the 'richman's war' and all the rest of it--and goes up in the air and whenhe's up in the air he's kind of hard to handle. That's what youtold me about the balloon, if I recollect. "

Grover laughed heartily. "Then the best thing to do is to keep himon the ground, I should say, " he observed. 

Jed rubbed his chin. "Um-hm, " he drawled, "but shuttin' off hisgas supply might help some. I don't think I'd worry about himmuch, if I was you. "

They separated at the front gate before the shop, where the rows ofempty posts, from which the mills and vanes had all been removed, stood as gaunt reminders of the vanished summer. Major Groverrefused Jed's invitation to come in and have a smoke. 

"No, thank you, " he said, "not this evening. I'll wait here amoment and say good-night to the Armstrongs and Phillips and then Imust be on my way to the camp. . . . Why, what's the matter?Anything wrong?"

His companion was searching in his various pockets. The searchcompleted, he proceeded to look himself over, so to speak, takingoff his hat and looking at that, lifting a hand and then a foot andlooking at them, and all with a puzzled, far-away expression. WhenGrover repeated his question he seemed to hear it for the firsttime and then not very clearly. 

"Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, why--er--yes, there IS somethin' wrong. That is to say, there ain't, and that's the wrong part of it. Idon't seem to have forgotten anything, that's the trouble. "

His friend burst out laughing. 

"I should scarcely call that a trouble, " he said. 

"Shouldn't you? No, I presume likely you wouldn't. But I never goanywhere without forgettin' somethin', forgettin' to say somethin'or do somethin' or bring somethin'. Never did in all my life. Nowhere I am home again and I can't remember that I've forgot a singlething. . . . Hum. . . . Well, I declare! I wonder what it means. Maybe, it's a sign somethin's goin' to happen. "

He said good night absent-mindedly. Grover laughed and walked awayto meet Ruth and her brother, who, with Barbara dancing ahead, werecoming along the sidewalk. He had gone but a little way when heheard Mr. Winslow shouting his name. 

"Major!" shouted Jed. "Major Grover! It's all right, Major, Ifeel better now. I've found it. 'Twas the key. I left it in thefront door lock here when I went away this mornin'. I guessthere's nothin' unnatural about me, after all; guess nothin's goin'to happen. "

But something did and almost immediately. Jed, entering the outershop, closed the door and blundered on through that apartment andthe little shop adjoining until he came to his living-room beyond. Then he fumbled about in the darkness for a lamp and matchbox. Hefound the latter first, on the table where the lamp should havebeen. Lighting one of the matches, he then found the lamp on achair directly in front of the door, where he had put it beforegoing away that morning, his idea in so doing being that it wouldthus be easier to locate when he returned at night. Thanking hislucky stars that he had not upset both chair and lamp in hisprowlings, Mr. Winslow lighted the latter. Then, with it in hishand, he turned, to see the very man he and Major Grover had justbeen discussing seated in the rocker in the corner of the room andglaring at him malevolently. 

Naturally, Jed was surprised. Naturally, also, being himself, heshowed his surprise in his own peculiar way. He did not startviolently, nor utter an exclamation. Instead he stood stock still, returning Phineas Babbitt's glare with a steady, unwinking gaze. 

It was the hardware dealer who spoke first. And that, by the way, was precisely what he had not meant to do. 

"Yes, " he observed, with caustic sarcasm, "it's me. You needn'tstand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, Shavin's. It's me. "

Jed set the lamp upon the table. He drew a long breath, apparentlyof relief. 

"Why, so 'tis, " he said, solemnly. "When I first saw you sittin'there, Phin, I had a suspicion 'twas you, but the longer I lookedthe more I thought 'twas the President come to call. Do you know, "he added, confidentially, "if you didn't have any whiskers and helooked like you you'd be the very image of him. "

This interesting piece of information was not received withenthusiasm. Mr. Babbitt's sense of humor was not acutelydeveloped. 

"Never mind the funny business, Shavin's, " he snapped. "I didn'tcome here to be funny to-night. Do you know why I came here totalk to you?"

Jed pulled forward a chair and sat down. 

"I presume likely you came here because you found the doorunlocked, Phin, " he said. 

"I didn't say HOW I came to come, but WHY I came. I knew where youwas this afternoon. I see you when you left there and I had a goodmind to cross over and say what I had to say before the whole crew, Sam Hunniwell, and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and thatArmstrong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of 'em. "

Mr. Winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "Now, Phin, " heprotested, "seems to me--"

But Babbitt was too excited to heed. His little eyes snapped andhis bristling beard quivered. 

"You hold your horses, Shavin's, " he ordered. "I didn't come hereto listen to you. I came because I had somethin' to say and whenI've said it I'm goin' and goin' quick. My boy's been home. Youknew that, I suppose, didn't you?"

Jed nodded. "Yes, " he said, "I knew Leander'd come home forThanksgivin'. "

"Oh, you did! He came here to this shop to see you, maybe? Humph!I'll bet he did, the poor fool!"

Again Jed shifted his position. His hands clasped about his kneeand his foot lifted from the floor. 

"There, there, Phin, " he said gently; "after all, he's your onlyson, you know. "

"I know it. But he's a fool just the same. "

"Now, Phin! The boy'll be goin' to war pretty soon, you know, and--"

Babbitt sprang to his feet. His chin trembled so that he couldscarcely speak. 

"Shut up!" he snarled. "Don't let me hear you say that again, JedWinslow. Who sent him to war? Who filled his head full of rubbishabout patriotism, and duty to the country, and all the rest of therotten Wall Street stuff? Who put my boy up to enlistin', JedWinslow?"

Jed's foot swung slowly back and forth. 

"Well, Phin, " he drawled, "to be real honest, I think he puthimself up to it. "

"You're a liar. YOU did it. "

Jed sighed. "Did Leander tell you I did?" he asked. 

"No, " mockingly, "Leander didn't tell me. You and Sam Hunniwelland the rest of the gang have fixed him so he don't come to hisfather to tell things any longer. But he told his step-mother thisvery mornin' and she told me. You was the one that advised him toenlist, he said. Good Lord; think of it! He don't go to his ownfather for advice; he goes to the town jackass instead, the critterthat spends his time whittlin' out young-one's playthings. My LordA'mighty!"

He spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. There was aninterval of silence before Jed answered. 

"Well, Phin, " he said, slowly, "you're right, in a way. Leanderand I have always been pretty good friends and he's been in thehabit of droppin' in here to talk things over with me. When hecame to me to ask what he ought to do about enlistin', asked whatI'd do if I was he, I told him; that's all there was to it. "

Babbitt extended a shaking forefinger. 

"Yes, and you told him to go to war. Don't lie out of it now; youknow you did. "

"Um . . . Yes . . . I did. "

"You did? You DID? And you have the cheek to own up to it rightafore my face. "

Jed's hand stroked his chin. "W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "you justordered me not to lie out of it, you know. Leander asked me rightup and down if I wouldn't enlist if I was in his position. Naturally, I said I would. "

"Yes, you did. And you knew all the time how I felt about it, youSNEAK. "

Jed's foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he hoistedhimself from the chair. 

"Phin, " he said, with deliberate mildness, "is there anything elseyou'd like to ask me? 'Cause if there isn't, maybe you'd betterrun along. "

"You sneakin' coward!"

"Er--er--now--now, Phin, you didn't understand. I said 'ask' me, not 'call' me. "

"No, I didn't come here to ask you anything. I came here andwaited here so's to be able to tell you somethin'. And that isthat I know now that you're responsible for my son--my only boy, the boy I'd depended on--and--and--"

The fierce little man was, for the moment, close to breaking down. Jed's heart softened; he felt almost conscience-stricken. 

"I'm sorry for you, Phineas, " he said. "I know how hard it must befor you. Leander realized it, too. He--"

"Shut up! Shavin's, you listen to me. I don't forget. All mylife I've never forgot. And I ain't never missed gettin' square. I can wait, just as I waited here in the dark over an hour so's tosay this to you. I'll get square with you just as I'll get squarewith Sam Hunniwell. . . . That's all. . . . That's all. . . . DAMN YOU!"

He stamped from the room and Jed heard him stumbling through thelittered darkness of the shops on his way to the front door, kicking at the obstacles he tripped over and swearing and sobbingas he went. It was ridiculous enough, of course, but Jed did notfeel like smiling. The bitterness of the little man's final cursewas not humorous. Neither was the heartbreak in his tone when hespoke of his boy. Jed felt no self-reproach; he had advisedLeander just as he might have advised his own son had his life beenlike other men's lives, normal men who had married and possessedsons. He had no sympathy for Phineas Babbitt's vindictive hatredof all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for hissilly and selfish ideas concerning the war. But he did pity him;he pitied him profoundly. 

Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional departure andJed followed to close it. Before doing so he stepped out into theyard. 

It was pitch dark now and still. He could hear the footsteps ofhis recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble ofthe surf on the bar was unusually audible. He stood for a momentlooking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between thecloud blotches. Then he turned and looked at the little house nextdoor. 

The windows of the sitting-room were alight and the shades drawn. At one window he saw Charles Phillips' silhouette; he was reading, apparently. Across the other shade Ruth's dainty profile came andwent. Jed looked and looked. He saw her turn and speak to someone. Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of MajorGrover. Evidently the major had not gone home at once as he hadtold Jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enterthe Armstrong house and make Charlie and his sister a short call. This was Jed's estimate of the situation, his sole speculationconcerning it and its probabilities. 

And yet Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he seen the major's shadow upon theArmstrong window curtain, might have speculated much. 

CHAPTER XV

The pity which Jed felt for Phineas Babbitt caused him to keepsilent concerning his Thanksgiving evening interview with thehardware dealer. At first he was inclined to tell Major Grover ofBabbitt's expressions concerning the war and his son's enlistment. After reflection, however, he decided not to do so. The Winslowcharity was wide enough to cover a multitude of other people's sinsand it covered those of Phineas. The latter was to be pitied; asto fearing him, as a consequence of his threat to "get square, " Jednever thought of such a thing. If he felt any anxiety at all inthe matter it was a trifling uneasiness because his friends, theHunniwells and the Armstrongs, were included in the threat. But hewas inclined to consider Mr. Babbitt's wrath as he had onceestimated the speech of a certain Ostable candidate for politicaloffice, to be "like a tumbler of plain sody water, mostly fizz andfroth and nothin' very substantial or fillin'. " He did not tellGrover of the interview in the shop; he told no one, not even RuthArmstrong. 

The--to him, at least--delightful friendship and intimacy betweenhimself and his friends and tenants continued. He and CharliePhillips came to know each other better and better. Charles wasnow almost as confidential concerning his personal affairs as hissister had been and continued to be. 

"It's surprising how I come in here and tell you all my privatebusiness, Jed, " he said, laughing. "I don't go about shouting myjoys and troubles in everybody's ear like this. Why do I do it toyou?"

Jed stopped a dismal whistle in the middle of a bar. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "I don't know. When I was a young-one Iused to like to holler out back of Uncle Laban Ryder's barn so's tohear the echo. When you say so and so, Charlie, I generally agreewith you. Maybe you come here to get an echo; eh?"

Phillips laughed. "You're not fair to yourself, " he said. "Igenerally find when the echo in here says no after I've said yes itpays me to pay attention to it. Sis says the same thing about you, Jed. "

Jed made no comment, but his eyes shone. Charles went on. 

"Don't you get tired of hearing the story of my life?" he asked. "I--"

He stopped short and the smile faded from his lips. Jed knew why. The story of his life was just what he had not told, what he couldnot tell. 

As January slid icily into February Mr. Gabriel Bearse became anunusually busy person. There were so many things to talk about. Among these was one morsel which Gabe rolled succulently beneathhis tongue. Charles Phillips, "'cordin' to everybody's tell, " waskeeping company with Maud Hunniwell. 

"There ain't no doubt of it, " declared Mr. Bearse. "All hands istalkin' about it. Looks's if Cap'n Sam would have a son-in-law onhis hands pretty soon. How do you cal'late he'd like the idea, Shavin's?"

Jed squinted along the edge of the board he was planing. He madeno reply. Gabe tried again. 

"How do you cal'late Cap'n Sam'll like the notion of his petdaughter takin' up with another man?" he queried. Jed was stillmute. His caller lost patience. 

"Say, what ails you?" he demanded. "Can't you say nothin'?"

Mr. Winslow put down the board and took up another. 

"Ye-es, " he drawled. 

"Then why don't you, for thunder sakes?"

"Eh? . . . Um. . . Oh, I did. "

"Did what?"

"Say nothin'. "

"Oh, you divilish idiot! Stop tryin' to be funny. I asked you howyou thought Cap'n Sam would take the notion of Maud's havin' asteady beau? She's had a good many after her, but looks as if shewas stuck on this one for keeps. "

Jed sighed and looked over his spectacles at Mr. Bearse. Thelatter grew uneasy under the scrutiny. 

"What in time are you lookin' at me like that for?" he asked, pettishly. 

The windmill maker sighed again. "Why--er--Gab, " he drawled, "Iwas just thinkin' likely YOU might be stuck for keeps. "

"Eh? Stuck? What are you talkin' about?"

"Stuck on that box you're sittin' on. I had the glue pot standin'on that box just afore you came in and . . . Er . . . It leaksconsider'ble. "

Mr. Bearse raspingly separated his nether garment from the top ofthe box and departed, expressing profane opinions. Jed's lipstwitched for an instant, then he puckered them and began towhistle. 

But, although he had refused to discuss the matter with GabrielBearse, he realized that there was a strong element of probabilityin the latter's surmise. It certainly did look as if the spoileddaughter of Orham's bank president had lost her heart to herfather's newest employee. Maud had had many admirers; some veryearnest and lovelorn swains had hopefully climbed the Hunniwellfront steps only to sorrowfully descend them again. Miss MelissaBusteed and other local scandal scavengers had tartly classifiedthe young lady as the "worst little flirt on the whole Cape, " whichwas not true. But Maud was pretty and vivacious and she was notaverse to the society and adoration of the male sex in general, although she had never until now shown symptoms of preference foran individual. But Charlie Phillips had come and seen and, judgingby appearances, conquered. 

Since the Thanksgiving dinner the young man had been a frequentvisitor at the Hunniwell home. Maud was musical, she played welland had a pleasing voice. Charles' baritone was unusually good. So on many evenings Captain Sam's front parlor rang with melody, while the captain smoked in the big rocker and listened admiringlyand gazed dotingly. At the moving-picture theater on Wednesday andSaturday evenings Orham nudged and winked when two Hunniwells and aPhillips came down the aisle. Even at the Congregational church, where Maud sang in the choir, the young bank clerk was beginning tobe a fairly constant attendant. Captain Eri Hedge declared thatthat settled it. 

"When a young feller who ain't been to meetin' for land knows howlong, " observed Captain Eri, "all of a sudden begins showin' upevery Sunday reg'lar as clockwork, you can make up your mind it'sowin' to one of two reasons--either he's got religion or a girl. In this case there ain't any revival in town, so--"

And the captain waved his hand. 

Jed was not blind and he had seen, perhaps sooner than any oneelse, the possibilities in the case. And what he saw distressedhim greatly. Captain Sam Hunniwell was his life-long friend. Maudhad been his pet since her babyhood; she and he had had manyconfidential chats together, over troubles at school, over pettydisagreements with her father, over all sorts of minor troubles andjoys. Captain Sam had mentioned to him, more than once, theprobability of his daughter's falling in love and marrying sometime or other, but they both had treated the idea as vague and faroff, almost as a joke. 

And now it was no longer far off, the falling in love at least. And as for its being a joke--Jed shuddered at the thought. He wasvery fond of Charlie Phillips; he had made up his mind at first tolike him because he was Ruth's brother, but now he liked him forhimself. And, had things been other than as they were, he couldthink of no one to whom he had rather see Maud Hunniwell married. In fact, had Captain Hunniwell known the young man's record, of hisslip and its punishment, Jed would have been quite content to seethe latter become Maud's husband. A term in prison, especiallywhen, as in this case, he believed it to be an unwarrantedpunishment, would have counted for nothing in the unworldly mind ofthe windmill maker. But Captain Sam did not know. He wastremendously proud of his daughter; in his estimation no man wouldhave been quite good enough for her. What would he say when helearned? What would Maud say when she learned? for it was almostcertain that Charles had not told her. These were some of thequestions which weighed upon the simple soul of Jedidah EdgarWilfred Winslow. 

And heavier still there weighed the thought of Ruth Armstrong. Hehad given her his word not to mention her brother's secret to asoul, not even to him. And yet, some day or other, as sure andcertain as the daily flowing and ebbing of the tides, that secretwould become known. Some day Captain Sam Hunniwell would learn it;some day Maud would learn it. Better, far better, that theylearned it before marriage, or even before the public announcementof their engagement--always provided there was to be such anengagement. In fact, were it not for Ruth herself, noconsideration for Charles' feelings would have prevented Jed'staking the matter up with the young man and warning him that, unless he made a clean breast to the captain and Maud, he--Jed--would do it for him. The happiness of two such friends should notbe jeopardized if he could prevent it. 

But there was Ruth. She, not her brother, was primarilyresponsible for obtaining for him the bank position and obtainingit under fake pretenses. And she, according to her own confessionto Jed, had urged upon Charles the importance of telling no one. Jed himself would have known nothing, would have had only a vague, indefinite suspicion, had she not taken him into her confidence. And to him that confidence was precious, sacred. If Charlie'ssecret became known, it was not he alone who would suffer; Ruth, too, would be disgraced. She and Babbie might have to leave Orham, might have to go out of his life forever. 

No wonder that, as the days passed, and Gabe Bearse's comments andthose of Captain Eri Hedge were echoed and reasserted by themajority of Orham tongues, Jed Winslow's worry and forebodingincreased. He watched Charlie Phillips go whistling out of theyard after supper, and sighed as he saw him turn up the road in thedirection of the Hunniwell home. He watched Maud's face when hemet her and, although the young lady was in better spirits andprettier than he had ever seen her, these very facts made himmiserable, because he accepted them as proofs that the situationwas as he feared. He watched Ruth's face also and there, too, hesaw, or fancied that he saw, a growing anxiety. She had been verywell; her spirits, like Maud's, had been light; she had seemedyounger and so much happier than when he and she first met. Thelittle Winslow house was no longer so quiet, with no sound ofvoices except those of Barbara and her mother. There were RedCross sewing meetings there occasionally, and callers came. MajorGrover was one of the latter. The major's errands in Orham weremore numerous than they had been, and his trips thither much morefrequent, in consequence. And whenever he came he made it a pointto drop in, usually at the windmill shop first, and then uponBabbie at the house. Sometimes he brought her home from school inhis car. He told Jed that he had taken a great fancy to the littlegirl and could not bear to miss an opportunity of seeing her. Which statement Jed, of course, accepted wholeheartedly. 

But Jed was sure that Ruth had been anxious and troubled of lateand he believed the reason to be that which troubled him. He hopedshe might speak to him concerning her brother. He would have likedto broach the subject himself, but feared she might consider himinterfering. 

One day--it was in late February, the ground was covered with snowand a keen wind was blowing in over a sea gray-green and splashedthickly with white--Jed was busy at his turning lathe when Charliecame into the shop. Business at the bank was not heavy in mid-winter and, although it was but little after three, the young manwas through work for the day. He hoisted himself to his accustomedseat on the edge of the workbench and sat there, swinging his feetand watching his companion turn out the heads and trunks of a batchof wooden sailors. He was unusually silent, for him, merelynodding in response to Jed's cheerful "Hello!" and speaking but afew words in reply to a question concerning the weather. Jed, absorbed in his work and droning a hymn, apparently forgot allabout his caller. 

Suddenly the latter spoke. 

"Jed, " he said, "when you are undecided about doing or not doing athing, how do you settle it?"

Jed looked up over his spectacles. 

"Eh?" he asked. "What's that?"

"I say when you have a decision to make and your mind is aboutfifty-fifty on the subject, how do you decide?"

Jed's answer was absently given. "W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "Igenerally--er--don't. "

"But suppose the time comes when you have to, what then?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, then, if 'tain't very important I usually leave itto Isaiah. "

"Isaiah? Isaiah who?"

"I don't know his last name, but he's got a whole lot of firstones. That's him, up on that shelf. "

He pointed to a much battered wooden figure attached to the edge ofthe shelf upon the wall. The figure was that of a little manholding a set of mill arms in front of him. The said mill armswere painted a robin's-egg blue, and one was tipped with black. 

"That's Isaiah, " continued Jed. "Hum . . . Yes . . . That's him. He was the first one of his kind of contraption that I ever madeand, bein' as he seemed to bring me luck, I've kept him. He'ssettled a good many questions for me, Isaiah has. "

"Why do you call him Isaiah?"

"Eh? Oh, that's just his to-day's name. I called him Isaiah justnow 'cause that was the first of the prophet names I could thinkof. Next time he's just as liable to be Hosea or Ezekiel or Samuelor Jeremiah. He prophesies just as well under any one of 'em, don't seem to be particular. "

Charles smiled slightly--he did not appear to be in a laughingmood--and then asked: "You say he settles questions for you? How?"

"How? . . . Oh. . . Well, you notice one end of that whirligigarm he's got is smudged with black?"

"Yes. "

"That's Hosea's indicator. Suppose I've got somethin' on--on whatcomplimentary folks like you would call my mind. Suppose, same as'twas yesterday mornin', I was tryin' to decide whether or not I'dhave a piece of steak for supper. I gave--er--Elisha's whirlagighere a spin and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straightup. That meant yes. If it had p'inted down, 'twould have meant no. "

"Suppose it had pointed across--half way between yes and no?"

"That would have meant that--er--what's-his-name--er--Deuteronomythere didn't know any more than I did about it. "

This time Phillips did laugh. "So you had the steak, " he observed. 

Jed's lip twitched. "I bought it, " he drawled. "I got so far allaccordin' to prophecy. And I put it on a plate out in the backroom where 'twas cold, intendin' to cook it when supper time came. "

"Well, didn't you?"

"No-o; you see, 'twas otherwise provided. That everlastin' Cherubtomcat of Taylor's must have sneaked in with the boy when hebrought the order from the store. When I shut the steak up in theback room I--er--er--hum. . . . "

"You did what?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, I shut the cat up with it. I guess likely that'sthe end of the yarn, ain't it?"

"Pretty nearly, I should say. What did you do to the cat?"

"Hum. . . . Why, I let him go. He's a good enough cat, 'cordin' tohis lights, I guess. It must have been a treat to him; I doubt ifhe gets much steak at home. . . . Well, do you want to give Isaiaha whirl on that decision you say you've got to make?"

Charles gave him a quick glance. "I didn't say I had one to make, "he replied. "I asked how you settled such a question, that's all. "

"Um. . . . I see. . . . I see. Well, the prophet's at yourdisposal. Help yourself. "

The young fellow shook his head. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be verysatisfactory, " he said. "He might say no when I wanted him to sayyes, you see. "

"Um-hm. . . . He's liable to do that. When he does it to me Ikeep on spinnin' him till we agree, that's all. "

Phillips made no comment on this illuminating statement and therewas another interval of silence, broken only by the hum and rasp ofthe turning lathe. Then he spoke again. 

"Jed, " he said, "seriously now, when a big question comes up toyou, and you've got to answer it one way or the other, how do yousettle with yourself which way to answer?"

Jed sighed. "That's easy, Charlie, " he declared. "There don't anybig questions ever come up to me. I ain't the kind of feller thebig things come to. "

Charles grunted, impatiently. "Oh, well, admitting all that, " hesaid, "you must have to face questions that are big to you, thatseem big, anyhow. "

Jed could not help wincing, just a little. The matter-of-fact wayin which his companion accepted the estimate of his insignificancewas humiliating. Jed did not blame him, it was true, of course, but the truth hurt--a little. He was ashamed of himself forfeeling the hurt. 

"Oh, " he drawled, "I do have some things--little no-account things--to decide every once in a while. Sometimes they bother me, too--although they probably wouldn't anybody with a head instead of aHubbard squash on his shoulders. The only way I can decide 'em isto set down and open court, put 'em on trial, as you might say. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I call in witnesses for both sides, seems so. Here's thereasons why I ought to tell; here's the reasons why I shouldn't. I--"

"Tell? Ought to TELL? What makes you say that? What have YOU gotto tell?"

He was glaring at the windmill maker with frightened eyes. Jedknew as well as if it had been painted on the shop wall before himthe question in the boy's mind, the momentous decision he wastrying to make. And he pitied him from the bottom of his heart. 

"Tell?" he repeated. "Did I say tell? Well, if I did 'twas justa--er--figger of speech, as the book fellers talk about. But theonly way to decide a thing, as it seems to me, is to try and figgerout what's the RIGHT of it, and then do that. "

Phillips looked gloomily at the floor. "And that's such an easyjob, " he observed, with sarcasm. 

"The figgerin' or the doin'?"

"Oh, the doing; the figuring is usually easy enough--too easy. Butthe doing is different. The average fellow is afraid. I don'tsuppose you would be, Jed. I can imagine you doing almost anythingif you thought it was right, and hang the consequences. "

Jed looked aghast. "Who? Me?" he queried. "Good land of love, don't talk that way, Charlie! I'm the scarest critter that livesand the weakest-kneed, too, 'most generally. But--but, all thesame, I do believe the best thing, and the easiest in the end, notonly for you--or me--but for all hands, is to take the bull by thehorns and heave the critter, if you can. There may be an awful bigtrouble, but big or little it'll be over and done with. THAT bullwon't be hangin' around all your life and sneakin' up astern to getyou--and those you--er--care for. . . . Mercy me, how I do preach!They'll be callin' me to the Baptist pulpit, if I don't look out. I understand they're candidatin'. "

His friend drew a long breath. "There is a poem that I used toread, or hear some one read, " he observed, "that fills the bill forany one with your point of view, I should say. Something about afellow's not being afraid to put all his money on one horse, or thelast card--about his not deserving anything if he isn't afraid torisk everything. Wish I could remember it. "

Jed looked up from the lathe. 

 "'He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all. '

That's somethin' like it, ain't it, Charlie?" he asked. 

Phillips was amazed. "Well, I declare, Winslow, " he exclaimed, "you beat me! I can't place you at all. Whoever would haveaccused you of reading poetry--and quoting it. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "I don't know much, of course, " he said, "butthere's consider'ble many poetry books up to the library and I liketo read 'em sometimes. You're liable to run across a--er--poem--well, like this one, for instance--that kind of gets hold of you. It fills the bill, you might say, as nothin' else does. There'sanother one that's better still. About--

 'Once to every man and nation Comes the moment to decide. 

Do you know that one?"

His visitor did not answer. After a moment he swung himself fromthe workbench and turned toward the door. 

"'He either fears his fate too much, '" he quoted, gloomily. "Humph! I wonder if it ever occurred to that chap that there mightbe certain kinds of fate that COULDN'T be feared too much? . . . Well, so long, Jed. Ah hum, you don't know where I can get hold ofsome money, do you?"

Jed was surprised. "Humph!" he grunted. "I should say you HADhold of money two-thirds of every day. Feller that works in a bankis supposed to handle some cash. "

"Yes, of course, " with an impatient laugh, "but that is somebodyelse's money, not mine. I want to get some of my own. "

"Sho! . . . Well, I cal'late I could let you have ten or twentydollars right now, if that would be any help to you. "

"It wouldn't; thank you just the same. If it was five hundredinstead of ten, why--perhaps I shouldn't say no. "

Jed was startled. 

"Five hundred?" he repeated. "Five hundred dollars? Do you needall that so very bad, Charlie?"

Phillips, his foot upon the threshold of the outer shop, turned andlooked at him. 

"The way I feel now I'd do almost anything to get it, " he said, andwent out. 

Jed told no one of this conversation, although his friend's partingremark troubled and puzzled him. In fact it troubled him so muchthat at a subsequent meeting with Charles he hinted to the latterthat he should be glad to lend the five hundred himself. 

"I ought to have that and some more in the bank, " he said. "Samwould know whether I had or not. . . . Eh? Why, and you would, too, of course. I forgot you know as much about folks' bankaccounts as anybody. . . . More'n some of 'em do themselves, bashfulness stoppin' me from namin' any names, " he added. 

Charles looked at him. "Do you mean to tell me, Jed Winslow, " hesaid, "that you would lend me five hundred dollars without anysecurity or without knowing in the least what I wanted it for?"

"Why--why, of course. 'Twouldn't be any of my business what youwanted it for, would it?"

"Humph! Have you done much lending of that kind?"

"Eh? . . . Um. . . . Well, I used to do consider'ble, but Sam hekind of put his foot down and said I shouldn't do any more. But Idon't HAVE to mind him, you know, although I generally do becauseit's easier--and less noisy, " he added, with a twinkle in his eye. 

"Well, you ought to mind him; he's dead right, of course. You're agood fellow, Jed, but you need a guardian. "

Jed shook his head sadly. "I hate to be so unpolite as to callyour attention to it, " he drawled, "but I've heard somethin' likethat afore. Up to now I ain't found any guardian that needs me, that's the trouble. And if I want to lend you five hundreddollars, Charlie, I'm goin' to. Oh, I'm a divil of a feller when Iset out to be, desperate and reckless, I am. "

Charlie laughed, but he put his hand on Jed's shoulder, "You're abrick, I know that, " he said, "and I'm a million times obliged toyou. But I was only joking; I don't need any five hundred. "

"Eh? . . . You don't? . . . Why, you said--"

"Oh, I--er--need some new clothes and things and I was talkingfoolishness, that's all. Don't you worry about me, Jed; I'm allright. "

But Jed did worry, a little, although his worry concerning theyoung man's need of money was so far overshadowed by the anxietycaused by his falling in love with Maud Hunniwell that it wasalmost forgotten. That situation was still as tense as ever. Two-thirds of Orham, so it seemed to Jed, was talking about it, wondering when the engagement would be announced and speculating, as Gabe Bearse had done, on Captain Sam's reception of the news. The principals, Maud and Charles, did not speak of it, of course--neither did the captain or Ruth Armstrong. Jed expected Ruth tospeak; he was certain she understood the situation and realized itsdanger; she appeared to him anxious and very nervous. It was tohim, and to him alone--her brother excepted--she could speak, butthe days passed and she did not. And it was Captain Hunniwell whospoke first. 

CHAPTER XVI

Captain Sam entered the windmill shop about two o'clock one windyafternoon in the first week of March. He was wearing a heavy furovercoat and a motoring cap. He pulled off the coat, threw it overa pile of boards and sat down. 

"Whew!" he exclaimed. "It's blowing hard enough to start the barkon a log. "

Jed looked up. 

"Did you say log or dog?" he asked, solemnly. 

The captain grinned. "I said log, " he answered. "This gale ofwind would blow a dog away, bark and all. Whew! I'm all out ofbreath. It's some consider'ble of a drive over from Wapatomac. Comin' across that stretch of marsh road by West Ostable I didn'tknow but the little flivver would turn herself into a flyin'-machine and go up. "

Jed stopped in the middle of the first note of a hymn. 

"What in the world sent you autoin' way over to Wapatomac and backthis day?" he asked. 

His friend bit the end from a cigar. "Oh, diggin' up the root ofall evil, " he said. "I had to collect a note that was due overthere. "

"Humph! I don't know much about such things, but I nevermistrusted 'twas necessary for you to go cruisin' like that tocollect notes. Seems consider'ble like sendin' the skipper up townto buy onions for the cook. Couldn't the--the feller that owed themoney send you a check?"

Captain Sam chuckled. "He could, I cal'late, but he wouldn't, " heobserved. "'Twas old Sylvester Sage, up to South Wapatomac, the'cranberry king' they call him up there. He owns cranberry bogsfrom one end of the Cape to the other. You've heard of him, ofcourse. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "Maybe so, " he drawled, "but if I have I'veforgot him. The only sage I recollect is the sage tea Mother usedto make me take when I had a cold sometimes. I COULDN'T forgetthat. "

"Well, everybody but you has heard of old Sylvester. He's thebiggest crank on earth. "

"Hum-m. Seems 's if he and I ought to know each other. . . . Butmaybe he's a different kind of crank; eh?"

"He's all kinds. One of his notions is that he won't pay bills bycheck, if he can possibly help it. He'll travel fifty miles to paymoney for a thing sooner than send a check for it. He had thisnote--fourteen hundred dollars 'twas--comin' due at our bank to-dayand he'd sent word if we wanted the cash we must send for it 'causehis lumbago was too bad for him to travel. I wanted to see himanyhow, about a little matter of a political appointment up hisway, so I decided to take the car and go myself. Well, I've justgot back and I had a windy v'yage, too. And cold, don't talk!"

"Um . . . Yes. . . . Get your money, did you?"

"Yes, I got it. It's in my overcoat pocket now. I thought onespell I wasn't goin' to get it, for the old feller was mad aboutsome one of his cranberry buyers failin' up on him and he was ascross-grained as a scrub oak root. He and I had a regular row overthe matter of politics I went there to see him about 'special. Itold him what he was and he told me where I could go. That's howwe parted. Then I came home. "

"Hum. . . . You'd have had a warmer trip if you'd gone where hesent you, I presume likely. . . . Um. . . . Yes, yes. . . . 

 'There's a place in this chorus For you and for me, And the theme of it ever And always shall be: Hallelujah, 'tis do-ne! I believe. . . . '

Hum! . . . I thought that paint can was full and there ain'tmore'n a half pint in it. I must have drunk it in my sleep, Iguess. Do I look green around the mouth, Sam?"

It was just before Captain Sam's departure that he spoke of hisdaughter and young Phillips. He mentioned them in a most casualfashion, as he was putting on his coat to go, but Jed had a feelingthat his friend had stopped at the windmill shop on purpose todiscuss that very subject and that all the detail of his Wapatomactrip had been in the nature of a subterfuge to conceal this fact. 

"Oh, " said the captain, with somewhat elaborate carelessness, as hestruggled into the heavy coat, "I don't know as I told you that thedirectors voted to raise Charlie's salary. Um-hm, at lastSaturday's meetin' they did it. 'Twas unanimous, too. He's assmart as a whip, that young chap. We all think a heap of him. "

Jed nodded, but made no comment. The captain fidgeted with abutton of his coat. He turned toward the door, stopped, clearedhis throat, hesitated, and then turned back again. 

"Jed, " he said, "has--has it seemed to you that--that he--thatCharlie was--maybe--comin' to think consider'ble of--of mydaughter--of Maud?"

Jed looked up, caught his eye, and looked down again. Captain Samsighed. 

"I see, " he said. "You don't need to answer. I presume likely thewhole town has been talkin' about it for land knows how long. It'sgenerally the folks at home that don't notice till the last gunfires. Of course I knew he was comin' to the house a good deal andthat he and Maud seemed to like each other's society, and all that. But it never struck me that--that it meant anything serious, youknow--anything--anything--well, you know what I mean, Jed. "

"Yes. Yes, Sam, I suppose I do. "

"Yes. Well, I--I don't know why it never struck me, either. IfGeorgianna--if my wife had been alive, she'd have noticed, I'llbet, but I didn't. 'Twas only last evenin'; when he came to gether to go to the pictures, that it came across me, you might say, like--like a wet, cold rope's end' slappin' me in the face. I giveyou my word, Jed, I--I kind of shivered all over. She means--shemeans somethin' to me, that little girl and--and--"

He seemed to find it hard to go on. Jed leaned forward. 

"I know, Sam, I know, " he said. His friend nodded. 

"I know you do, Jed, " he said. "I don't think there's anybody elseknows so well. I'm glad I've got you to talk to. I cal'late, though, " he added, with a short laugh, "if some folks knew I camehere to--to talk over my private affairs they'd think I was goin'soft in the head. "

Jed smiled, and there was no resentment in the smile. 

"They'd locate the softness in t'other head of the two, Sam, " hesuggested. 

"I don't care where they locate it. I can talk to you about thingsI never mention to other folks. Guess it must be because you--you--well, I don't know, but it's so, anyhow. . . . Well, to go ahead, after the young folks had gone I sat there alone in the parlor, inthe dark, tryin' to think it out. The housekeeper had gone over toher brother's, so I had the place to myself. I thought and thoughtand the harder I thought the lonesomer the rest of my life began tolook. And yet--and yet I kept tellin' myself how selfish andfoolish that was. I knew 'twas a dead sartinty she'd be gettin'married some time. You and I have laughed about it and joked aboutit time and again. And I've joked about it with her, too. But--but jokin's one thing and this was another. . . . Whew!"

He drew a hand across his forehead. Jed did not speak. After amoment the captain went on. 

"Well, " he said, "when she got home, and after he'd gone, I gotMaud to sit on my knee, same as she's done ever since she was alittle girl, and she and I had a talk. I kind of led up to thesubject, as you might say, and by and by we--well, we talked it outpretty straight. She thinks an awful sight of him, Jed. Thereain't any doubt about that, she as much as told me in those words, and more than told me in other ways. And he's the only one she'sever cared two straws for, she told me that. And--and--well, Ithink she thinks he cares for her that way, too, although of courseshe didn't say so. But he hasn't spoken to her yet. I don't know, but--but it seemed to me, maybe, that he might be waitin' to speakto me first. I'm his--er--boss, you know, and perhaps he may feela little--little under obligations to me in a business way and thatmight make it harder for him to speak. Don't it seem to you maybethat might be it, Jed?"

Poor Jed hesitated. Then he stammered that he shouldn't besurprised. Captain Sam sighed. 

"Well, " he said, "if that's it, it does him credit, anyhow. Iain't goin' to be selfish in this thing, Jed. If she's goin' tohave a husband--and she is, of course--I cal'late I'd rather 'twasCharlie than anybody else I've ever run across. He's smart andhe'll climb pretty high, I cal'late. Our little single-stickedbankin' craft ain't goin' to be big enough for him to sail in verylong. I can see that already. He'll be navigatin' a clipper oneof these days. Well, that's the way I'd want it. I'm prettyambitious for that girl of mine and I shouldn't be satisfied shortof a top-notcher. And he's a GOOD feller, Jed; a straight, clean, honest and above-board young chap. That's the best of it, afterall, ain't it?"

Jed's reply was almost a groan, but his friend did not notice. Heput on his overcoat and turned to go. 

"So, there you are, " he said. "I had to talk to somebody, had toget it off my chest, and, as I just said, it seems to be easier totalk such things to you than anybody else. Now if any of the towngas engines--Gab Bearse or anybody else--comes cruisin' in hereheavin' overboard questions about how I like the notion of Maud andCharlie takin' up with each other, you can tell 'em I'm tickled todeath. That won't be all lie, neither. I can't say I'm happy, exactly, but Maud is and I'm goin' to make-believe be, for hersake. So long. "

He went out. Jed put his elbows on the workbench and covered hisface with his hands. He was still in that position when RuthArmstrong came in. He rose hastily, but she motioned him to sitagain. 

"Jed, " she said, "Captain Hunniwell was just here with you; I sawhim go. Tell me, what was he talking about?"

Jed was confused. "Why--why, Mrs. Ruth, " he stammered, "he wasjust talkin' about--about a note he'd been collectin', and--andsuch. "

"Wasn't he speaking of his daughter--and--and my brother?"

This time Jed actually gasped. Ruth drew a long breath. "I knewit, " she said. 

"But--but, for mercy sakes, HOW did you know? Did he--?"

"No, he didn't see me at all. I was watching him from the window. But I saw his face and--" with a sudden gesture of desperation, "Oh, it wasn't that at all, Jed. It was my guilty conscience, Iguess. I've been expecting him to speak to you--or me--have beendreading it every day--and now somehow I knew he had spoken. IKNEW it. What did he say, Jed?"

Jed told the substance of what Captain Sam had said. She listened. When he finished her eyes were wet. 

"Oh, it is dreadful, " she moaned. "I--I was so hoping she mightnot care for Charlie. But she does--of course she does. Shecouldn't help it, " with a sudden odd little flash of loyalty. 

Jed rubbed his chin in desperation. 

"And--and Charlie?" he asked, anxiously. "Does he--"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he does. He has never told me so, never in somany words, but I can see. I know him better than any one else inthe world and I can see. I saw first, I think, on ThanksgivingDay; at least that is when I first began to suspect--to fear. "

Jed nodded. "When they was at the piano together that time and Samsaid somethin' about their bein' a fine-lookin' couple?" he said. 

"Why, yes, that was it. Are you a mind reader, Jed?"

"No-o, I guess not. But I saw you lookin' kind of surprised and--er--well, scared for a minute. I was feelin' the same way justthen, so it didn't need any mind reader to guess what had scaredyou. "

"I see. But, oh, Jed, it is dreadful! What SHALL we do? Whatwill become of us all? And now, when I--I had just begun to behappy, really happy. "

She caught her breath in a sob. Jed instinctively stretched outhis hand. 

"But there, " she went on, hurriedly wiping her eyes, "I mustn't dothis. This is no time for me to think of myself. Jed, thismustn't go any further. He must not ask her to marry him; he mustnot think of such a thing. "

Jed sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid you're right, " he said. "Not as things are now he surely mustn't. But--but, Mrs. Ruth--"

"Oh, don't!" impatiently. "Don't use that silly 'Mrs. ' any longer. Aren't you the--the best friend I have in the world? Do call meRuth. "

If she had been looking at his face just then she might have seen--things. But she was not looking. There was an interval of silencebefore he spoke. 

"Well, then--er--Ruth--" he faltered. 

"That's right. Go on. "

"I was just goin' to ask you if you thought Charlie was cal'latin'to ask her. I ain't so sure that he is. "

He told of Charles' recent visit to the windmill shop and the youngman's query concerning the making of a decision. She listenedanxiously. 

"But don't you think that means that he was wondering whether ornot he should ask her?" she said. 

"No. That is, I don't think it's sartin sure it means that. Irather had the notion it might mean he was figgerin' whether or notto go straight to Sam and make a clean breast of it. "

"You mean tell--tell everything?"

"Yes, all about the--the business at Middleford. I do honestlybelieve that's what the boy's got on his mind to do. It ain't verysurprisin' that he backs and fills some before that mind's made up. See what it might mean to him: it might mean the loss of hisprospects here and his place in the bank and, more'n everythingelse, losin' Maud. It's some decision to make. If I had to makeit I-- Well, I don't know. "

She put her hand to her eyes. "The POOR boy, " she said, under herbreath. "But, Jed, DO you think that is the decision he referredto? And why hasn't he said a word to me, his own sister, about it?I'm sure he loves me. "

"Sartin he does, and that's just it, as I see it. It ain't his ownhopes and prospects alone that are all wrapped up in this thing, it's yours--and Babbie's. He's troubled about what'll happen toyou. That's why he hasn't asked your advice, I believe. "

They were both silent for a moment. Then she said, pleadingly, "Oh, Jed, it is up to you and me, isn't it? What shall we do?"

It was the "we" in this sentence which thrilled. If she had badehim put his neck in front of the handsaw just then Jed would haveobeyed, and smilingly have pulled the lever which set the machinein motion. But the question, nevertheless, was a staggerer. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he admitted, "I--I hardly know what to say, I will givein. To be right down honest--and the Lord knows I hate to say it--it wouldn't do for a minute to let those two young folks getengaged--to say nothin' of gettin' married--with this thing between'em. It wouldn't be fair to her, nor to Sam--no, nor to him oryou, either. You see that, don't you?" he begged. "You know Idon't say it for any reason but just--just for the best interestsof all hands. You know that, don't you--Ruth?"

"Of course, of course. But what then?"

"I don't really know what then. Seems to me the very first thingwould be for you to speak to him, put the question right up to him, same as he's been puttin' it to himself all this time. Get him totalk it over with you. And then--well, then--"

"Yes?"

"Oh, I don't know! I declare I don't. "

"Suppose he tells me he means to marry her in spite of everything?Suppose he won't listen to me at all?"

That possibility had been in Jed's mind from the beginning, but herefused to consider it. 

"He will listen, " he declared, stoutly. "He always has, hasn't he?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose he has. He listened to me when I persuadedhim that coming here and hiding all--all that happened was theright thing to do. And now see what has come of it! And it is allmy fault. Oh, I have been so selfish!"

"Sshh! sshh! You ain't; you couldn't be if you tried. And, besides, I was as much to blame as you. I agreed that 'twas thebest thing to do. "

"Oh, " reproachfully, "how can you say that? You know you wereopposed to it always. You only say it because you think it willcomfort me. It isn't true. "

"Eh? Now--now, don't talk so. Please don't. If you keep ontalkin' that way I'll do somethin' desperate, start to make ajohnny cake out of sawdust, same as I did yesterday mornin', orsomethin' else crazy. "

"Jed!"

"It's true, that about the johnny cake. I came pretty nigh doin'that very thing. I bought a five-pound bag of corn meal yesterdayand fetched it home from the store all done up in a nice neatbundle. Comin' through the shop here I had it under my arm, and--hum--er--well, to anybody else it couldn't have happened, but, bein' Jed Shavin's Winslow, I was luggin' the thing with the top ofthe bag underneath. I got about abreast of the lathe there whenthe string came off and in less'n two thirds of a shake all I hadunder my arm was the bag; the meal was on the floor--what wasn't inmy coat pocket and stuck to my clothes and so on. I fetched thewater bucket and started to salvage what I could of the cargo. Pretty soon I had, as nigh as I could reckon it, about fourteenpound out of the five scooped up and in the bucket. I begun tothink the miracle of loaves and fishes was comin' to pass again. Iwas some shy on fish, but I was makin' up on loaves. Then I sortof looked matters over and found what I had in the bucket was aboutone pound of meal to seven of sawdust. Then I gave it up. Seemedto me the stuff might be more fillin' than nourishin'. "

Ruth smiled faintly. Then she shook her head. 

"Oh, Jed, " she said, "you're as transparent as a windowpane. Thankyou, though. If anything could cheer me up and help me to forget Ithink you could. "

Jed looked repentant. "I'd no business to tell you all thatrigamarole, " he said. "I'm sorry. I'm always doin' the wrongthing, seems so. But, " he added, earnestly, "I don't want you toworry too much about your brother--er--Ruth. It's goin' to comeout all right, I know it. God won't let it come out any otherway. "

She had never heard him speak in just that way before and shelooked at him in surprise. 

"And yet God permits many things that seem entirely wrong to ushumans, " she said. 

"I know. Things like the Kaiser, for instance. Well, never mind;this one's goin' to come out all right. I feel it in my bones. And, " with a return of his whimsical drawl, "I may be short onbrains, but a blind man could see they never skimped me when theypassed out the bones. "

She looked at him a moment. Then, suddenly leaning forward, sheput her hand upon his big red one as it lay upon the bench. 

"Jed, " she said, earnestly, "what should I do without you? You aremy one present help in time of trouble. I wonder if you know whatyou have come to mean to me. "

It was an impulsive speech, made from the heart, and withoutthought of phrasing or that any meaning other than that intendedcould be read into it. A moment later, and without waiting for ananswer, she hurried from the shop. 

"I must go, " she said. "I shall think over your advice, Jed, and Iwill let you know what I decide to do. Thank you ever and ever somuch. "

Jed scarcely heard her. After she had gone, he sat perfectly stillby the bench for a long period, gazing absently at the bare wall ofthe shop and thinking strange thoughts. After a time he rose and, walking into the little sitting-room, sat down beside the uglylittle oak writing table he had bought at a second-hand sale andopened the upper drawer. 

Weeks before, Ruth, yielding to Babbie's urgent appeal, hadaccompanied the latter to the studio of the local photographer andthere they had been photographed, together, and separately. Theresults, although not artistic triumphs, being most inexpensive, had been rather successful as likenesses. Babbie had come trottingin to show Jed the proofs. A day or so later he found one of thesaid proofs on the shop floor where the little girl had dropped it. It happened to be a photograph of Ruth, sitting alone. 

And then Jed Winslow did what was perhaps the first dishonest thinghe had ever done. He put that proof in the drawer of the oakwriting table and said nothing of his having found it. Later hemade a wooden frame for it and covered it with glass. It faded andturned black as all proofs do, but still Jed kept it in the drawerand often, very often, opened that drawer and looked at it. Now helooked at it for a long, long time and when he rose to go back tothe shop there was in his mind, along with the dream that had beenthere for days and weeks, for the first time the faintest dawningof a hope. Ruth's impulsive speech, hastily and unthinkingly made, was repeating itself over and over in his brain. "I wonder if youknow what you have come to mean to me?" What had he come to meanto her?

An hour later, as he sat at his bench, Captain Hunniwell camebanging in once more. But this time the captain looked troubled. 

"Jed, " he asked, anxiously, "have you found anything here since Iwent out?"

Jed looked up. 

"Eh?" he asked, absently. "Found? What have you found, Sam?"

"I? I haven't found anything. I've lost four hundred dollars, though. You haven't found it, have you?"

Still Jed did not appear to comprehend. He had been wandering therose-bordered paths of fairyland and was not eager to come back toearth. 

"Eh?" he drawled. "You've--what?"

His friend's peppery temper broke loose. 

"For thunder sakes wake up!" he roared. "I tell you I've lost fourhundred dollars of the fourteen hundred I told you I collected fromSylvester Sage over to Wapatomac this mornin'. I had threepackages of bills, two of five hundred dollars each and one of fourhundred. The two five hundred packages were in the inside pocketof my overcoat where I put 'em. But the four hundred one's gone. What I want to know is, did it drop out when I took off my coathere in the shop? Do you get that through your head, finally?"

It had gotten through. Jed now looked as troubled as his friend. He rose hastily and went over to the pile of boards upon whichCaptain Sam had thrown his coat upon entering the shop on hisprevious visit that day. Together they searched, painstakingly andat length. The captain was the first to give up. 

"'Tain't here, " he snapped. "I didn't think 'twas. Where in timeis it? That's what I want to know. "

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"Are you sure you had it when you left Wapatomac?" he asked. 

"Sure? No, I ain't sure of anything. But I'd have sworn I did. The money was on the table along with my hat and gloves. I pickedit up and shoved it in my overcoat pocket. And that was a darnedcareless place to put it, too, " he added, testily. "I'd have givenany feller that worked for me the devil for doin' such a thing. "

Jed nodded, sympathetically. "But you might have left it there toSylvester's, " he said. "Have you thought of telephonin' to findout?"

"Have I thought? Tut, tut, tut! Do you think I've got a head likea six-year-old young-one--or you? Course I've thought--and'phoned, too. But it didn't do me any good. Sylvester's house isshut up and the old man's gone to Boston, so the postmaster told mewhen I 'phoned and asked him. Won't be back for a couple of days, anyhow. I remember he told me he was goin'!"

"Sho, sho! that's too bad. "

"Bad enough, but I don't think it makes any real difference. Iswear I had that money when I left Sage's. I came in here and thenI went straight to the bank. "

"And after you got there?"

"Oh, when I got there I found no less than three men, not countin'old Mrs. Emmeline Bartlett, in my room waitin' to see me. NellieHall--my typewriter, you know--she knew where I'd been and what acrank old Sage is and she says: 'Did you get the money, Cap'n?'And I says: 'Yes, it's in my overcoat pocket this minute. ' Then Ihurried in to 'tend to the folks that was waitin' for me. 'Twas anhour later afore I went to my coat to get the cash. Then, as Isay, all I could find was the two five hundred packages. The fourhundred one was gone. "

"Sho, sho! Tut, tut, tut! Where did you put the coat when youtook it off?"

"On the hook in the clothes closet where I always put it. "

"Hum-m! And--er--when you told Nellie about it did you speakloud?"

"Loud? No louder'n I ever do. "

"Well--er--that ain't a--er--whisper, Sam, exactly. "

"Don't make any difference. There wasn't anybody outside therailin' that minute to hear if I'd bellered like a bull of Bashan. There was nobody in the bank, I tell you, except the three men andold Aunt Emmeline and they were waitin' in my private room. Andexcept for Nellie and Eddie Ellis, the messenger, and CharliePhillips, there wan't a soul around, as it happened. The moneyhasn't been stolen; I lost it somewheres--but where? Well, I can'tstop here any longer. I'm goin' back to the bank to have anotherhunt. "

He banged out again. Fortunately he did not look at his friend'sface before he went. For that face had a singular expression uponit. Jed sat heavily down in the chair by the bench. A vividrecollection of a recent remark made in that very shop had suddenlycome to him. Charlie Phillips had made it in answer to a questionof his own. Charlie had declared that he would do almost anythingto get five hundred dollars. 

CHAPTER XVII

The next morning found Jed heavy-eyed and without appetite, goingthrough the form of preparing breakfast. All night, with theexception of an hour or two, he had tossed on his bed alternatelyfearing the worst and telling himself that his fears weregroundless. Of course Charlie Phillips had not stolen the fourhundred dollars. Had not he, Jed Winslow, loudly proclaimed toRuth Armstrong that he knew her brother to be a fine young man, onewho had been imprudent, it is true, but much more sinned againstthan sinning and who would henceforth, so he was willing to swear, be absolutely upright and honest? Of course the fact that a sum ofmoney was missing from the Orham National Bank, where Phillips wasemployed, did not necessarily imply that the latter had taken it. 

Not necessarily, that was true; but Charlie had, in Jed's presence, expressed himself as needing money, a sum approximately that whichwas missing; and he had added that he would do almost anything toget it. And--there was no use telling oneself that the fact had nobearing on the case, because it would bear heavily with anyunprejudiced person--Charlie's record was against him. Jed loyallytold himself over and over again that the boy was innocent, he KNEWhe was innocent. But-- The dreadful "but" came back again andagain to torment him. 

All that day he went about in an alternate state of dread and hope. Hope that the missing four hundred might be found, dread of--manypossibilities. Twice he stopped at the bank to ask Captain Samconcerning it. The second time the captain was a trifle impatient. 

"Gracious king, Jed, " he snapped. "What's the matter with you?'Tain't a million. This institution'll probably keep afloat evenif it never turns up. And 'twill turn up sooner or later; it'sbound to. There's a chance that I left it at old Sage's. Soon'sthe old cuss gets back and I can catch him by telephone I'll findout. Meanwhile I ain't worryin' and I don't know why you should. The main thing is not to let anybody know anything's missin'. Oncelet the news get out 'twill grow to a hundred thousand afore night. There'll be a run on us if Gab Bearse or Melissa Busteed get goin'with their throttles open. So don't you whisper a word to anybody, Jed. We'll find it pretty soon. "

And Jed did not whisper a word. But he anxiously watched theinmates of the little house, watched Charles' face when he camehome after working hours, watched the face of his sister as shewent forth on a marketing expedition, even scrutinized Babbie'slaughing countenance as she came dancing into the shop, swingingPetunia by one arm. And it was from Babbie he first learned that, in spite of all Captain Hunniwell's precautions, some one haddropped a hint. It may as well be recorded here that the identityof that some one was never clearly established. There weresuspicions, centering about the bank messenger, but he stoutlydenied having told a living soul. 

Barbara, who was on her way home from school, and had rescued thelong-suffering Petunia from the front fence where she had been leftsuspended on a picket to await her parent's return, was bubblingover with news and giggles. 

"Oh, Uncle Jed, " she demanded, jumping up to perch panting upon astack of the front elevations of birdhouses, "isn't Mr. Gabe Bearseawfully funny?"

Jed sighed. "Yes, " he said, "Gabe's as funny as a jumpin'toothache. "

The young lady regarded him doubtfully. "I see, " she said, after amoment, "you're joking again. I wish you'd tell me when you'regoing to do it, so Petunia and I would know for sure. "

"All right, I'll try not to forget to remember. But how did youguess I was jokin' this time?"

"'Cause you just had to be. A jumping toothache isn't funny. Ihad one once and it made me almost sick. "

"Um-hm. W-e-e-ll, Gabe Bearse makes 'most everybody sick. Whatset you thinkin' about him?"

"'Cause I just met him on the way home and he acted so funny. First he gave me a stick of candy. "

Mr. Winslow leaned back in his chair. 

"What?" he cried. "He gave you a stick of candy? GAVE it to you?"

"Yes. He said: 'Here, little girl, don't you like candy?' Andwhen I said I did he gave me a stick, the striped peppermint kindit was. I'd have saved a bite for you, Uncle Jed, only I and therest ate it all before I remembered. I'm awfully sorry. "

"That's all right. Striped candy don't agree with me very well, anyway; I'm liable to swallow the stripes crossways, I guesslikely. But tell me, did Gabe look wild or out of his head when hegave it to you?"

"Why, no. He just looked--oh--oh, you know, Uncle Jed--MYSter'ous--that's how he looked, MYSter'ous. "

"Hum! Well, I'm glad to know he wan't crazy. I've known him agood many years and this is the first time I ever knew him to GIVEanybody anything worth while. When I went to school with him hegave me the measles, I remember, but even then they was onlyimitation--the German kind. And now he's givin' away candy: Tut, tut! No wonder he looked--what was it?--mysterious. . . . Hum. . . . Well, he wanted somethin' for it, didn't he? What was it?"

"Why, he just wanted to know if I'd heard Uncle Charlie sayanything about a lot of money being gone up to the bank. He saidhe had heard it was ever and ever so much--a hundred hundreddollars--or a thousand dollars, or something--I don't precactlyremember, but it was a great, big lot. And he wanted to know ifUncle Charlie had said how much it was and what had become of itand--and everything. When I said Uncle Charlie hadn't said a wordhe looked so sort of disappointed and funny that it made me laugh. "

It did not make Jed laugh. The thought that the knowledge of themissing money had leaked out and was being industriously spreadabroad by Bearse and his like was very disquieting. He watchedPhillips more closely than before. He watched Ruth, and, beforeanother day had passed, he had devised a wonderful plan, a plan tobe carried out in case of alarming eventualities. 

On the afternoon of the third day he sat before his workbench, hisknee clasped between his hands, his foot swinging, and his thoughtsbusy with the situation in all its alarming phases. It had beenbad enough before this new development, bad enough when the alwayspresent danger of Phillips' secret being discovered had becomecomplicated by his falling in love with his employer's daughter. But now-- Suppose the boy had stolen the money? Suppose he wasbeing blackmailed by some one whom he must pay or face exposure?Jed had read of such things; they happened often enough in novels. 

He did not hear the door of the outer shop open. A month or moreago he had removed the bell from the door. His excuse for so doinghad been characteristic. 

"I can't stand the wear and tear on my morals, " he told Ruth. "Iain't sold anything, except through the mail, since the winterreally set in. And yet every time that bell rings I find myselfjumpin' up and runnin' to wait on a customer. When it turns out tobe Gabe Bearse or somebody like him I swear, and swearin' to me islike whiskey to some folks--comfortin' but demoralizin'. "

So the bell having been removed, Jed did not hear the person whocame into and through the outer shop. The first sign of thatperson's presence which reached his ears was an unpleasant chuckle. He turned, to see Mr. Phineas Babbitt standing in the doorway ofthe inner room. And--this was the most annoying and disturbingfact connected with the sight--the hardware dealer was notscowling, he was laughing. The Winslow foot fell to the floor witha thump and its owner sat up straight. 

"He, he, he!" chuckled Phineas. Jed regarded him silently. Babbitt's chuckle subsided into a grin. Then he spoke. 

"Well, " he observed, with sarcastic politeness, "how's the greatShavin's Jedidah, the famous inventor of whirlagigs? He, he, he!"

Jed slowly shook his head. "Phin, " he said, "either you wearrubbers or I'm gettin' deaf, one or the other. How in the worlddid you get in here this time without my hearin' you?"

Phineas ignored the question. He asked one of his own. "How's theonly original high and mighty patriot this afternoon?" he sneered. 

The Winslow hand caressed the Winslow chin. 

"If you mean me, Phin, " drawled Jed, "I'm able to sit up and takenourishment, thank you. I judge you must be kind of ailin', though. Take a seat, won't you?"

"No, I won't. I've got other fish to fry, bigger fish than you, atthat"

"Um-hm. Well, they wouldn't have to be sperm whales to beat me, Phin. Be kind of hard to fry 'em if they was too big, wouldn'tit?"

"They're goin' to fry, you hear me. Yes, and they're goin' tosizzle. He, he, he!"

Mr. Winslow sadly shook his head. "You must be awful sick, Phin, "he drawled. "That's the third or fourth time you've laughed sinceyou came in here. "

His visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead. Jed beamedgratification. 

"That's it, " he said. "Now you look more natural. Feelin' alittle better . . . Eh?"

The Babbitt chin beard bristled. Its wearer leaned forward. 

"Shut up, " he commanded. "I ain't takin' any of your sass thisafternoon, Shavin's, and I ain't cal'latin' to waste much time onyou, neither. You know where I'm bound now? Well, I'm bound up tothe Orham National Bank to call on my dear friend Sam Hunniwell. He, he, he! I've got a little bit of news for him. He's introuble, they tell me, and I want to help him out. . . . Blasthim!"

This time Jed made no reply; but he, too, leaned forward and hisgaze was fixed upon the hardware dealer's face. There was anexpression upon his own face which, when Phineas saw it, caused thelatter to chuckle once more. 

"He, he!" he laughed. "What's the matter, Shavin's? You look kindof scared about somethin'. 'Tain't possible you've known all alongwhat I've just found out? I wonder if you have. Have you?"

Still Jed was silent. Babbit grunted. 

"It don't make any difference whether you have or not, " he said. "But if you ain't I wonder what makes you look so scared. There'snothin' to be scared about, as I see. I'm just cal'latin' to doour dear old chummie, Cap'n Sam, a kindness, that's all. He's lostsome money up there to the bank, I understand. Some says it's fourthousand dollars and some says it's forty. It don't make anydifference, that part don't. Whatever 'tis it's missin' and I'mgoing to tell him where to find it. That's real good of me, ain'tit? Ain't it, Shavin's; eh?"

The little man's malignant spite and evident triumph were actuallyfrightening. And it was quite evident that Jed was frightened. Yet he made an effort not to appear so. 

"Yes, " he agreed. "Yes, yes, seems 's if 'twas. Er--er-- Whereis it, Phin?"

Phineas burst out laughing. "'Where is it, Phin?'" he repeated, mockingly. "By godfreys mighty, I believe you do know where 'tis, Shavin's! You ain't gettin' any of it, are you? You ain'tdividin' up with the blasted jailbird?"

Jed was very pale. His voice shook as he essayed to speak. 

"Wh-what jailbird?" he faltered. "What do you mean? What--whatare you talkin' about, Phin?"

"'What are you talkin' about, Phin?' God sakes, hear him, willyou! All right, I'll tell you what I'm talkin' about. I'm talkin'about Sam Hunniwell's pet, his new bookkeeper up there to the bank. I'm talkin' about that stuck-up, thievin' hypocrite of a CharliePhillips, that's who I'm talkin' about. I called him a jailbird, didn't I? Well, he is. He's served his term in the ConnecticutState's prison for stealin'. And I know it. "

Jed groaned aloud. Here it was at last. The single hair hadparted and the sword had fallen. And now, of all times, now! Hemade a pitiful attempt at denial. 

"It ain't so, " he protested. 

"Oh, yes, it is so. Six or eight weeks ago--in January 'twas--there was a drummer in my store sellin' a line of tools and he waslookin' out of the window when this Phillips cuss went by with MaudHunniwell, both of 'em struttin' along as if common folks, honestfolks, was dirt under their feet. And when this drummer see 'em heswore right out loud. 'Why, ' says he, 'that's Charlie Phillips, ofMiddleford, ain't it?' 'His name's Phillips and he comes fromConnecticut somewheres, ' says I. 'I thought he was in state'sprison, ' says he. 'What do you mean?' says I. And then he toldme. 'By godfreys, ' says I, 'if you can fix it so's I can provethat's true I'll give you the biggest order you ever got in thisstore. ' ''Twon't be any trouble to prove it, ' says he. 'Allyou've got to do is look up his record in Middleford. ' And I'velooked it up. Yes, sir-ee, I've looked it up. Ho, ho!"

Jed, white and shaking, made one more attempt. 

"It's all a lie, " he cried. "Of course it is. Besides, if youknew so much why have you been waitin' all this time before youtold it? If you found out all this--this pack of rubbish inJanuary why did you wait till March before you told it? Humph!That's pretty thin, I--"

Phineas interrupted. 

"Shut up!" he ordered. "Why did I wait? Well, now, Shavin's, seein' it's you and I love you so, I'll tell you. At first I wasfor runnin' right out in the street and hollerin' to all hands tocome and hear the good news about Sam Hunniwell's pet. And thenthinks I: 'Hold on! don't be in any hurry. There's time enough. Just wait and see what happens. A crook that steals once is liableto try it again. Let's wait and see. ' And I waited, and-- He, he, he!--he has tried it again. Eh, Shavin's?"

Jed was speechless. Babbitt, looking like a triumphantly viciousBantam rooster, crowed on. 

"You don't seem to be quite so sassy and talky as you was when Ifirst came in, Shavin's, " he sneered. "Guess likely YOU ain'tfeelin' well now . . . Eh? Do you remember what I told you lasttime I was in this shop? I told you I'd pay my debts to you andSam Hunniwell if I waited fifty year. Well, here's Hunniwell's paycomin' to him now. He's praised that Phillips thief from one endof Ostable county to the other, told how smart he was and howhonest and good he was till--Lord A'mighty, it's enough to turn adecent man's stomach! And not only that, but here's the fellercourtin' his daughter. Oh, ho, ho, ho! that's the best of thewhole business. That was another thing made me hang off and wait;I wanted to see how the courtin' came along. And it's come alongall right. Everybody's onto 'em, hangin' over each other, andlookin' soft at each other. She's just fairly heavin' herself athis head, all hands says so. There ain't been anybody in this towngood enough for her till he showed up. And now it's comin' outthat he's a crook and a jailbird! And he'll be jailed for stealin'THIS time, too. Ho, ho!"

He stopped, out of breath, to indulge in another long chuckle. Jedleaned forward. 

"What are you talkin' about, Phin?" he demanded. "Even allowin'all this--this rigmarole of yours about--about Middleford business--was true--"

"It is true and you know it is. I believe you've known it allalong. "

"I say allowin' it is, you haven't any right to say Charlie tookthis money from the Orham bank. You can't prove any such thing. "

"Aw, be still! Prove--prove nothin'. When a cat and a sasser ofmilk's shut up together and the milk's gone, you don't need proofto know where it's gone, do you? Don't talk to me about proof, JedWinslow. Put a thief alongside of money and anybody knows what'llhappen. Why, YOU know what's happened yourself. You know darnwell Charlie Phillips has stole the money that's gone from thebank. Down inside you you're sartin sure of it; and I don't wantany better proof of THAT than just your face, Shavin's. "

This time Jed did not attempt to contradict. Instead he tried anew hazard. 

"Phin, " he pleaded, "don't be too hard. Just think of what'llhappen if you come out with that--that wild-goose yarn of yours. Think of Maud, poor girl. You haven't got anything against her, have you?"

"Yes, I have. She's stuck-up and nose in the air and looks at meas if I was some sort of--of a bug she wouldn't want to step on forfear of mussin' up her shoes. I never did like her, blast her. But leavin' that all to one side, she's Sam Hunniwell's young-oneand that's enough for me. "

"But she's his only child, Phin. "

"Good enough! I had a boy; he was an only child, too, you'llremember. Where is he now? Out somewheres where he don't belong, fightin' and bein' killed to help Wall Street get rich. And whosent him there? Why, Sam Hunniwell and his gang. You're one of'em, Jed Winslow. To hell with you, every one of you, daughtersand all hands. "

"But, Phin--just a minute. Think of what it'll mean to Charlie, poor young feller. It'll mean--"

"It'll mean ten years this time, and a good job, too. You poorfool, do you think you can talk me out of this? You, you sawdust-head? What do you think I came into your hole here for? I camehere so's you'd know what I was goin' to do to your precious chums. I wanted to tell you and have the fun of watchin' you squirm. Well, I'm havin' the fun, plenty of it. Squirm, you Wall Streetbloodsucker, squirm. "

He fairly stood on tiptoe to scream the last command. To adisinterested observer the scene might have had some elements offarce comedy. Certainly Phineas, his hat fallen off and underfoot, his scanty gray hair tousled and his pugnacious chin beardbristling, was funny to look at. And the idea of calling JedWinslow a "Wall Street bloodsucker" was the cream of burlesque. But to Jed himself it was all tragedy, deep and dreadful. He madeone more desperate plea. 

"But, Phin, " he begged, "think of his--his sister, Charlie'ssister. What'll become of her and--and her little girl?"

Phineas snorted. "His sister, " he sneered. "All right, I'll thinkabout her all right. She's another stuck-up that don't speak tocommon folks. Who knows anything about her any more'n they didabout him? Better look up her record, I guess. The boy's turnedout to be a thief; maybe the sister'll turn out to be--"

"Stop! Be still!"

Jed actually shouted it. Babbitt stopped, principally because thesuddenness of the interruption had startled him into doing so. Butthe pause was only momentary. He stared at the interrupter inenraged amazement for an instant and then demanded: "Stop? Who areyou tellin' to stop?"

"You. "

"I want to know! Well, I'll stop when I get good and ready and ifyou don't like it, Shavin's, you can lump it. That Phillips kidhas turned out to be a thief and, so far as anybody 'round hereknows, his sister may be--"

"Stop!" Again Jed shouted it; and this time he rose to his feet. Phineas glared at him. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "You'll make me stop, I presume likely. "

"Yes. "

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it's got to be so. Look here, Phin, I realize you're mad anddon't care much what you say, but there's a limit, you know. It'sbad enough to hear you call poor Charlie names, but when you startin on Ruth--on Mrs. Armstrong, I mean--that's too much. You've gotto stop. "

This speech was made quietly and with all the customary Winslowdeliberation and apparent calm, but there was one little slip in itand that slip Babbitt was quick to notice. 

"Oh, my!" he sneered. "Ruth's what we call her, eh? Ruth! Got sochummy we call each other by our first names. Ruthie and Jeddie, Ipresume likely. Aw, haw, haw!"

Jed's pallor was, for the moment, succeeded by a vivid crimson. Hestammered. Phineas burst into another scornful laugh. 

"Haw, haw, haw!" he crowed. "She lets him call her Ruth. Oh, myLord A'mighty! Let's Shavin's Winslow call her that. Well, Iguess I sized her up all right. She must be about on her brother'slevel. A thief and--"

"Shut up, Phin!"

"Shut up? YOU tell me to shut up!"

"Yes. "

"Well, I won't. Ruth Armstrong! What do I care for--"

The speech was not finished. Jed had taken one long stride towhere Babbitt was standing, seized the furious little creature bythe right arm with one hand and with the other covered his openmouth, covered not only the mouth, but a large section of face aswell. 

"You keep quiet, Phin, " he drawled. "I want to think. "

Phineas struggled frantically. He managed to get one corner of hismouth from behind that mammoth hand. 

"Ruth Armstrong!" he screamed. "Ruth Armstrong is--"

The yell died away to a gurgle, pinched short by the Winslowfingers. Then the door leading to the kitchen, the door behind thepair, opened and Ruth Armstrong herself came in. She was pale andshe stared with frightened eyes at the little man struggling in thetall one's clutch. 

"Oh, Jed, " she breathed, "what is it?"

Jed did not reply. Phineas could not. 

"Oh, Jed, what is it?" repeated Ruth. "I heard him shouting myname. I was in the yard and I heard it. . . . Oh, Jed, what ISit?"

Babbitt at last managed to wriggle partially clear. He was crazywith rage, but he was not frightened. Fear of physical violencewas not in his make-up; he was no coward. 

"I'll tell you what it is, " he screamed. "I'll tell you what itis: I've found out about you and that stuck-up crook of a brotherof yours. He's a thief. That's what he is, a thief and ajailbird. He stole at Middleford and now he's stole again here. And Jed Winslow and you are--"

He got no further, being once more stoppered like a bottle by theWinslow grip and the Winslow hand. He wriggled and fought, but hewas pinned and helpless, hands, feet and vocal organs. Jed did notso much as look at him; he looked only at Ruth. 

Her pallor had increased. She was trembling. 

"Oh, Jed, " she cried, "what does he mean? What does he mean by--by'again--here'?"

Jed's grip tightened over his captive's mouth. 

"He doesn't mean anything, " he declared, stoutly. "He don't knowwhat he means. "

From behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mumble. Ruthleaned forward. 

"Jed, " she begged, "does he--does he know about--about--"

Jed nodded. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly, but she didnot collapse or give way. 

"And he is going to tell?" she whispered. 

A furious mumble from behind the fingers and a venomous flash fromthe Babbitt eyes were answers sufficient. 

"Oh, Jed, " she pleaded, "what SHALL we do?"

For the instant a bit of the old Jed came to the surface. His liptwitched grimly as he looked down at the crimson face above his ownhand. 

"I ain't sartin--yet, " he drawled. "How do you start in killin'a--a snappin' turtle? I ain't tackled the job since I was a boy. "

Phineas looked as if he could have furnished some points on thesubject. His eyes were bulging. Then all three heard the door ofthe outer shop open. 

Ruth looked desperately about her. She hastened to the door bywhich she had entered. "There's some one coming, " she whispered. 

Jed glanced over his shoulder. "You go away, " he whispered inreply. "Go away, Ruth. Hurry!"

Her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she could open itthe other door, that leading from the outer shop, opened andLeonard Grover came in. He stared at the picture before him--atRuth Armstrong's pale, frightened face, at Babbitt struggling inhis captor's clutch, at Jed. 

"Why!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

No one answered. Phineas was the only one who stirred. He seemedanxious to turn the tableau into a moving picture, but his successwas limited. The Major turned to Ruth. 

"What is it?" he asked again. 

She was silent. Grover repeated his question, addressing Jed thistime. 

"Well?" he asked, sharply. "What is the trouble here? What hasthat fellow been doing?"

Jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "He's--he's--" hestammered. "Well, you see, Major, he . . . Hum . . . Well, I'mafraid I can't tell you. "

"You can't tell me! What on earth-- Mrs. Armstrong, will you tellme?"

She looked at him appealingly, pitifully, but she shook her head. 

"I--I can't, " she said. 

He looked from one to the other. Then, with a shrug, he turned tothe door. 

"Pardon me for interrupting, " he observed. "Good afternoon. "

It was Ruth who detained him. "Oh, please!" she cried, involuntarily. He turned again. 

"You wish me to stay?" he asked. 

"Oh--oh, I don't know. I--"

She had not finished the sentence; she was falteringly trying tofinish it when Mr. Babbitt took the center of the stage. Once morehe managed to free himself from Jed's grip and this time he dartedacross the shop and put the workbench between himself and his enemy. 

"I'll tell you what it is, " he screamed. "I've found out somethings they don't want anybody to know, that's what. I've foundout what sort of folks they are, she and her brother. He's acommon-- Let go of me! By--"

The scream ended in another mumble. Jed had swarmed over the benchand once more pinned him fast. 

"You'll have to excuse me, Major, " he panted. "I--I can't help it. This feller's got what ailed the parrot--he talks too darn much. He's got to stop! He's GOT to!"

But Grover was paying little attention. He was looking at Ruth. 

"Mrs. Armstrong, " he asked, "has he been saying--saying things heshould not say about you? Is that the trouble?"

She answered without returning his look. 

"Yes, " she said, almost in a whisper. "About me and--and my--Yes, that was it. "

The Major's eyes flashed. "Let go of him, Jed, " he commanded. Jedhesitated. 

"If I do he'll blow up again, " he said. 

"Let go of him. "

Jed let go. Phineas caught his breath and opened his mouth. MajorGrover stepped in front of him and leveled a forefinger straight atthe crimson Babbitt nose. 

"Stop!" he ordered, sharply. 

"Stop? What right have you got to tell me to stop? By--"

"Stop! Listen to me. I don't know what you've been saying aboutthis lady--"

"I ain't been saying anything, except what I know, and that isthat--"

"Stop! And I don't care. But I know about you, sir, because it ismy business to know. The Government has had its eye on you forsome time and it has asked me to look into your record. I havelooked into it. You are not a very dangerous person, Mr. Babbitt, but that is because of your lack of ability to harm, not because ofany good will on your part toward the United States. You have doneall the harm you could, you have talked sedition, you've writtenand talked against the draft, you have corresponded with Germanagents in Boston and New York. "

"That's a lie. "

"No, it's the truth. I have copies of your letters and theGovernment has the originals. They are not very dangerous, butthat is because you are not big enough to be dangerous. Theauthorities have left you pretty much to my discretion, sir. Itrests with me whether to have you taken in charge and held fortrial or merely to warn you and watch you. Very well. I warn younow and you may be certain that you are watched. You'll stop yoursilly, seditious talk at once and you'll write no more letters likethose I have seen. If you do it will be a prison term for you assure as I stand here. Do you understand?"

Apparently Phineas understood. His face was not as red as it hadbeen and there was a different look in his eye. Jed's roughhandling had not frightened him, but the Major's cold, incisivetones and the threat of a term in prison had their effect. Nevertheless he could still bluster. 

"You can't talk to me that way, " he sputtered. "I--I ain't scaredof you even if you are all dressed up in fuss and feathers like ahand-organ monkey. This is a free country. "

"Yes, it is. For decent people it is absolutely free. The othersort have to be put where they can't interfere with that freedom. Whether you, Babbit, remain free or not depends entirely upon whatyou do--and say. Is this perfectly clear?"

Phineas did not answer the question directly. For a moment hestood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, and his eyessnapping. Then he turned away. 

"All right, " he said, sullenly. "I hear what you say. Now I cango, I presume likely--unless you've got some more lyin' andbullyin' to do. Get out of my way, Shavin's, you fool. "

But Grover had not finished with him. 

"Just a minute, " he said. "There is one thing more. I don't knowwhat it is, and I don't wish to know, but evidently you have beensaying, or threatening to say, something concerning this lady, Mrs. Armstrong, which should not be said. You are not to mention hername. Do you understand that?"

The little hardware dealer almost jumped from the floor as his rageagain got the better of him. 

"The blazes I ain't!" he shrieked. "Who says I ain't? Is that anyof your business, Mr. --Mr. Brass Monkey? What's you or the UnitedStates gov'ment got to say about my mentionin' names? To the devilwith the United States and you, too! You hear that?"

Major Grover smiled. "Yes, " he said, quietly. "I hear it. Sodoes Mr. Winslow here, and Mrs. Armstrong. They can be called aswitnesses if it is necessary. You had better let me finish, Babbitt. As I say, you are not to mention Mrs. Armstrong's name, you are not to repeat or circulate any scandal or story reflectingupon her character--"

"Or her brother's either, " put in Jed, eagerly. "Tell him he can'ttalk against Charlie, either. "

"Certainly. You are not to repeat or circulate anything derogatoryto the character of either Mrs. Armstrong or Mr. Phillips. In anyway derogatory. "

Phineas tossed both fists in the air. 

"You can't order me around that way, " he yelled. "Besides, if youknew what I know about that gang you'd--"

"Hush! I don't want to know anything you know--or pretend to know. As for ordering you about--well, we'll see. "

"I tell you you can't. You ain't got the right. "

"Perhaps not. But I have the right to use my discretion--myjudgment in your case. And my judgment is that if I hear onescandalous story about town reflecting upon the character of Mrs. Armstrong or her brother--yes, or her friends--I shall know who isresponsible and I shall have you arrested and held for trial as anenemy of the country. You condemned the United States to the devilonly a moment ago in my hearing. Do you think that would help youin court, Babbitt? I don't. "

The little man's face was a sight. As Jed said afterward, helooked as if he would have enjoyed biting his way out of the shop. 

"Huh!" he snarled; "I see. You're all in together, the whole lotof you. And you, you brass buttons, you're usin' your soldierin'job to keep your friends out of trouble. . . . Huh! Yes, that'swhat you're doin'. "

The Major's smile was provokingly cool. 

"Perhaps I am, " he admitted. "But I shouldn't advise you to forgetwhat I have just told you, Babbitt. I mean every word of it. "

It was Ruth who spoke next. She uttered a startled exclamation. 

"There's some one coming up the walk, " she cried. "Listen. "

Sure enough, heavy footsteps sounded upon the walk leading from thefront gate to the shop. Jed ran to the window. 

"It's Sam, " he exclaimed. "Good heavens above! It's Sam Hunniwell, of all folks--now!"

Grover looked from one face to the other. 

"Is there any particular reason why Captain Hunniwell shouldn'tcome?" he asked. 

Jed and Ruth were silent. Phineas chuckled malevolently. Jedheard the chuckle and spoke. 

"'Twas--'twas Cap'n Sam he was goin' to tell, " he whispered, pointing at Babbitt. Ruth caught her breath with a frightenedgasp. 

Grover nodded. "Oh, I see, " he said. "Well, I don't think hewill. He'll be more--more--careful, I'm sure. Babbitt, remember. "

They heard the captain rattle the latch of the front door. Ruthopened the door behind her. "I must go, Jed, " she whispered. "I--I can't stay. "

The Major turned. "I'll go with you, Mrs. Armstrong, " he said. But Jed leaned forward. 

"I--I wish you'd stay, Major Grover, " he whispered. "I--I'd liketo have you stay here just a minute or two. "

Grover hesitated. Ruth went out, closing the living-room doorafter her. A moment later Captain Sam came into the workshop. 

"Hello, Jed!" he hailed. "Why, hello, Major! What--" Then forthe first time he saw and recognized the third member of the group. He looked at Phineas and the little man looked at him. The lookswere studies in expression. 

"Humph!" grunted Captain Sam. "What in time--? . . . Humph! . . . Well, Phin, you look awful glad to see me, I must say. Graciousking, man, don't glower at me like that! I haven't done anythingto you, if you'd only have sense enough to believe it. "

Babbitt did not answer. He looked as if he were going to burst. Major Grover was regarding him with a whimsical twinkle in his eye. 

"Mr. Babbitt and I have just been discussing some points connectedwith the war, " he observed. "I don't know that we agree, exactly, but we have--well, we have reached an understanding. "

The captain was plainly puzzled. "Humph!" he grunted. "You don'tsay! . . . Well, I-- Eh, what is it, Jed?"

If any one had been watching Jed particularly during the recent fewminutes they might have observed in his face the dawning of an ideaand the changing of that idea into a set purpose. The idea seemedto dawn the moment after he saw Captain Hunniwell coming up thewalk. It had become a purpose by the time the captain rattled thelatch. While Captain Sam and the major were speaking he hadhastened to the old desk standing by the wall and was rummaging inone of the drawers. Now he came forward. 

"Sam--" he began, but broke off to address Mr. Babbitt, who wasstriding toward the door. "Don't go, Phin, " he cried. "I'd ratheryou didn't go just this minute. I'd like to have you stay. Please. "

Phineas answered over his shoulder. The answer was a savage snarland a command for "Shavings" to mind his own business. Groverspoke then. 

"Mr. Babbitt, " he suggested, "don't you think you had better stay amoment? Mr. Winslow seems to wish it. "

Babbitt reached for the handle of the door, but Grover's hand waslightly laid on his shoulder. 

"Do stay, Mr. Babbitt, " begged the Major, sweetly. "To oblige me, you know. "

Phineas swore with such vehemence that the oath might have beenheard across the road. What he might have said thereafter is aquestion. At that moment his attention was caught by somethingwhich Jed Winslow had in his hands and he stayed to stare at it. The something was a bundle of crumpled banknotes. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Jed came forward, the roll of bills in his hand. He seemed quiteoblivious of the Babbitt stare, or, for that matter, of thecomplete silence which had so suddenly fallen upon the group in theshop. He came forward, smoothing the crumpled notes with fingerswhich shook a little. He stopped in front of Captain Hunniwell. The captain was gazing at him and at the money. Jed did not meethis friend's eye; he continued to smooth the banknotes. CaptainSam spoke first. 

"What's that?" he demanded. "What money's that?"

Jed's fingers moved back and forth across the bills and he answeredwithout looking up. He seemed much embarrassed. 

"Sam, " he faltered. "Sam--er--you remember you told me you'd--er--lost some money a spell ago? Some--er--money you'd collected overto Wapatomac. You remember that, don't you?"

Captain Sam looked at him in puzzled surprise. "Remember it?" herepeated. "Course I remember it. Gracious king, 'tain't likelyI'd forget it, is it?"

Jed nodded. "No-o, " he drawled, solemnly. "No, course youcouldn't. 'Twas four hundred dollars you was short, wan't it?"

The Captain's puzzled look was still there. 

"Yes, " he replied. "What of it?"

"Why--why, just this, Sam: I--I want it to be plain, youunderstand. I want Major Grover and Phineas here to understandthe--the whole of it. There's a lot of talk, seems so, around townabout money bein' missin' from the bank--"

Captain Sam interrupted. "The deuce there is!" he exclaimed. "That's the first I've heard of any such talk. Who's talkin'?"

"Oh, a--a good many folks, I judge likely. Gabe Bearse askedBabbie about it, and Phin here he--"

"Eh?" The captain turned to face his old enemy. "So you've beentalkin', have you?" he asked. 

Mr. Babbitt leaned forward. "I ain't begun my talkin' yet, SamHunniwell, " he snarled. "When I do you'll--"

He stopped. Grover had touched him on the shoulder. 

"Sshh!" said the Major quietly. To the absolute amazement ofCaptain Sam, Phineas subsided. His face was blazing red and heseemed to be boiling inside, but he did not say another word. Jedseized the opportunity to continue. 

"I--I just want to get this all plain, Sam, " he put in, hastily. "I just want it so all hands'll understand it, that's all. Youwent over to Sylvester Sage's in Wapatomac and he paid you fourhundred dollars. When you got back home here fourteen hundred ofit was missin'. No, no, I don't mean that. I mean you couldn'tfind fourteen hundred--I mean--"

The captain's patience was, as he himself often said, moored with ashort cable. The cable parted now. 

"Gracious king!" he snapped. "Jed, if that yarn you're tryin' tospin was wound in a ball and a kitten was playin' with it youcouldn't be worse snarled up. What he's tryin' to tell you, " heexplained, turning to Grover, "is that the other day, when I wasover to Wapatomac, old Sylvester Sage over there paid me fourteenhundred dollars in cash and when I got back here all I could findwas a thousand. That's what you're tryin' to say, ain't it?"turning to Jed once more. 

"Yes--yes, that's it, Sam. That's it. "

"Course it's it. But what do you want me to say it for? And whatare you runnin' around with all that money in your hands for?That's what I want to know. "

Jed swallowed hard. "Well, Sam, " he stammered, "that--that's whatI was goin' to tell you. You see--you see, that's the four hundredyou lost. I--I found it. "

Major Grover looked surprised. Phineas Babbitt looked moresurprised. But, oddly enough, it was Captain Sam Hunniwell whoappeared to be most surprised by his friend's statement. Thecaptain seemed absolutely dumbfounded. 

"You--you WHAT?" he cried. 

Jed smoothed the bills in his hand. "I found it, Sam, " herepeated. "Here 'tis--here. "

He extended the bundle of banknotes. The captain made no move totake them. Jed held them a little nearer. 

"You--you'd better take it, Sam, " he urged. "It might get lostagain, you know. "

Still Captain Sam made no move. He looked from the bills in Jed'shands to Jed's face and back again. The expression on his own facewas a strange one. 

"You found it, " he repeated. "YOU did?"

"Yes--yes, I found it, Sam. Just happened to. "

"Where did you find it?"

"Over yonder behind that pile of boards. You know you said themoney was in your overcoat pocket and--and when you came in here onyour way back from Sylvester's you hove your coat over onto thoseboards. I presume likely the--the money must have fell out of thepocket then. You see, don't you, Sam?"

The tone in which the question was asked was one, almost, ofpleading. He appeared very, very anxious to have the captain"see. " But the latter seemed as puzzled as ever. 

"Here's the money, Sam, " urged Jed. "Take it, won't you?"

Captain Sam took it, but that is all he did. He did not count itor put it in his pocket. He merely took it and looked at the manwho had given it to him. 

Jed's confusion seemed to increase. "Don't you--don't you thinkyou'd better count it, Sam?" he stammered. "If--if the Major hereand Phin see you count it and--and know it's all right, thenthey'll be able to contradict the stories that's goin' around aboutso much bein' stolen, you know. "

The captain grunted. 

"Stolen?" he repeated. "You said folks were talkin' about moneybein' lost. Have they been sayin' 'twas stolen?"

It was Grover who answered. "I haven't heard any such rumors, " hesaid. "I believe Lieutenant Rayburn said he heard some idle reportabout the bank's having lost a sum of money, but there was no hintat dishonesty. "

Captain Sam turned to Mr. Babbitt. 

"YOU haven't heard any yarns about money bein' stolen at the bank, have you?" he demanded. 

Before Phineas could answer Grover's hand again fell lightly on hisshoulder. 

"I'm sure he hasn't, " observed the Major. The captain paid noattention to him. 

"Have you?" he repeated, addressing Babbitt. 

The little man shook from head to foot. The glare with which heregarded his hated rival might have frightened a timid person. ButCaptain Sam Hunniwell was distinctly not timid. 

"Have you?" he asked, for the third time. 

Phineas' mouth opened, but Grover's fingers tightened on hisshoulder and what came out of that mouth was merely a savagerepetition of his favorite retort, "None of your darned business. "

"Yes, 'tis my business, " began Captain Sam, but Jed interrupted. 

"I don't see as it makes any difference whether he's heard anythingor not, Sam, " he suggested eagerly. "No matter what he's heard, itain't so, because there couldn't have been anything stolen. Therewas only four hundred missin'. I've found that and you've got itback; so that settles it, don't it?"

"It certainly would seem as if it did, " observed Grover. "Congratulations, Captain Hunniwell. You're fortunate that sohonest a man found the money, I should say. "

The captain merely grunted. The odd expression was still on hisface. Jed turned to the other two. 

"Er--er--Major Grover, " he said, "if--if you hear any yarns nowabout money bein' missin'--or--or stolen you can contradict 'emnow, can't you?"

"I certainly can--and will. "

"And you'll contradict 'em, too, eh, Phin?"

Babbitt jerked his shoulder from Grover's grasp and strode to thedoor. 

"Let me out of here, " he snarled. "I'm goin' home. "

No one offered to detain him, but as he threw open the door to theouter shop Leonard Grover followed him. 

"Just a moment, Babbitt, " he said. "I'll go as far as the gatewith you, if you don't mind. Good afternoon, Jed. Good afternoon, Captain, and once more--congratulations. . . . Here, Babbitt, waita moment. "

Phineas did not wait, but even so his pursuer caught him before hereached the gate. Jed, who had run to the window, saw the Majorand the hardware dealer in earnest conversation. The former seemedto be doing most of the talking. Then they separated, Groverremaining by the gate and Phineas striding off in the direction ofhis shop. He was muttering to himself and his face was workingwith emotion. Between baffled malice and suppressed hatred helooked almost as if he were going to cry. Even amid his ownfeelings of thankfulness and relief Jed felt a pang of pity forPhineas Babbitt. The little man was the incarnation of spite andenvy and vindictive bitterness, but Jed was sorry for him, just ashe would have been sorry for a mosquito which had bitten him. Hemight be obliged to crush the creature, but he would feel that itwas not much to blame for the bite; both it and Phineas could nothelp being as they were--they were made that way. 

He heard an exclamation at his shoulder and turned to find thatCaptain Sam had also been regarding the parting at the gate. 

"Humph!" grunted the captain. "Phin looks as if he'd been eatin'somethin' that didn't set any too good. What's started him toobeyin' orders from that Grover man all to once? I always thoughthe hated soldierin' worse than a hen hates a swim. . . . Humph! . . . Well, that's the second queerest thing I've run across to-day. "

Jed changed the subject, or tried to change it. 

"What's the first one, Sam?" he hastened to ask. His friend lookedat him for an instant before he answered. 

"The first one?" he repeated, slowly. "Well, I'll tell you, Jed. The first one--and the queerest of all--is your findin' that fourhundred dollars. "

Jed was a good deal taken aback. He had not expected an answer ofthat kind. His embarrassment and confusion returned. 

"Why--why, " he stammered, "is--is that funny, Sam? I don't--Idon't know's I get what you mean. What's--what is there funnyabout my findin' that money?"

The captain stepped across the shop, pulled forward a chair andseated himself. Jed watched him anxiously. 

"I--I don't see anything very funny about my findin' that money, Sam, " he said, again. Captain Sam grunted. 

"Don't you?" he asked. "Well, maybe my sense of humor's gettin'cross-eyed or--or somethin'. I did think I could see somethin'funny in it, but most likely I was mistaken. Sit down, Jed, andtell me all about how you found it. "

Jed hesitated. His hand moved slowly across his chin. 

"Well, now, Sam, " he faltered, "there ain't nothin' to tell. Ijust--er--found it, that's all. . . . Say, you ain't seen that newgull vane of mine lately, have you? I got her so she can flop herwings pretty good now. "

"Hang the gull vane! I want to hear how you found that money. Gracious king, man, you don't expect I'm goin' to take the gettin'back of four hundred dollars as cool as if 'twas ten cents, do you?Sit down and tell me about it. "

So Jed sat, not with eagerness, but more as if he could think of noexcuse for refusing. His companion tilted back in his chair, lit acigar, and bade him heave ahead. 

"Well, " began Jed, "I--I--you see, Sam, I happened to look behindthat heap of boards there and--"

"What made you think of lookin' behind those boards?"

"Eh? Why, nothin' 'special. I just happened to look. That'swhere your coat was, you know. So I looked and--and there 'twas. "

"I see. There 'twas, eh? Where?"

"Why--why, behind the boards. I told you that, you know. "

"Gracious king, course I know! You've told me that no less thanten times. But WHERE was it? On the boards? On the floor?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, . . . Oh, seems to me 'twas on the floor. "

"Don't you KNOW 'twas on the floor?"

"Why . . . Why, yes, sartin. "

"Then what made you say 'seems as if' it was there?"

"Oh, . . . Oh, I don't know. Land sakes, Sam, what are you askin'me all these questions for?"

"Just for fun, I guess. I'm interested, naturally. Tell me somemore. How was the money--all together, or kind of scattered 'round?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, all together. "

"Sure of that?"

"Course I'm sure of it. I can see it just as plain as day, now Icome to think of it. 'Twas all together, in a heap like. "

"Um-hm. The band that was round it had come off, then?"

"Band? What band?"

"Why, the paper band with '$400' on it. That had come off when itfell out of my pocket, I presume likely. "

"Yes. . . . Yes, I guess likely it did. Must have. . . . Er--Sam, let me show you that gull vane. I got it so now that--"

"Hold on a minute. I'm mighty interested about your findin' thismoney. It's so--so sort of unexpected, as you might say. If thatband came off it must have broke when the money tumbled down behindthe boards. Let's see if it did. "

He rose and moved toward the pile of boards. Jed also rose. 

"What are you goin' to look for?" he asked, anxiously. 

"Why, the paper band with the '$400' on it. I'd like to see if itbroke. . . . Humph!" he added, peering down into the dark crevicebetween the boards and the wall of the shop. "Can't see anythingof it, can you?"

Jed, peering solemnly down, shook his head. "No, " he said. "Ican't see anything of it. "

"But it may be there, for all that. " He reached down. "Humph!" heexclaimed. "I can't touch bottom. Jed, you've got a longer armthan I have; let's see if you can. "

Jed, sprawled upon the heap of lumber, stretched his arm as far asit would go. "Hum, " he drawled, "I can't quite make it, Sam. . . . There's a place where she narrows way down here and I can't get myfingers through it. "

"Is that so? Then we'd better give up lookin' for the band, Ical'late. Didn't amount to anything, anyhow. Tell me more aboutwhat you did when you found the money. You must have beensurprised. "

"Eh? . . . Land sakes, I was. I don't know's I ever was sosurprised in my life. Thinks I, 'Here's Sam's money that's missin'from the bank. ' Yes, sir, and 'twas, too. "

"Well, I'm much obliged to you, Jed, I surely am. And when youfound it-- Let's see, you found it this mornin', of course?"

"Eh? Why--why, how--what makes you think I found it this mornin'?"

"Oh, because you must have. 'Cause if you'd found it yesterday orthe day before you'd have told me right off. "

"Yes--oh, yes, that's so. Yes, I found it this mornin'. "

"Hadn't you thought to hunt for it afore?"

"Eh? . . . Land sakes, yes . . . Yes, I'd hunted lots of times, but I hadn't found it. "

"Hadn't thought to look in that place, eh?"

"That's it. . . . Say, Sam, what--"

"It's lucky you hadn't moved those boards. If you'd shifted themany since I threw my coat on 'em you might not have found it for amonth, not till you used up the whole pile. Lucky you looked aforeyou shifted the lumber. "

"Yes . . . Yes, that's so. That's a fact. But, Sam, hadn't youbetter take that money back to the bank? The folks up there don'tknow it's been found yet. They'll be some surprised, too. "

"So they will. All hands'll be surprised. And when I tell 'em howyou happened to see that money lyin' in a pile on the floor behindthose boards and couldn't scarcely believe your eyes, and couldn'tbelieve 'em until you'd reached down and picked up the money, andcounted it-- That's about what you did, I presume likely, eh?"

"Yes. . . . Yes, that's just it. "

"They'll be surprised then, and no wonder. But they'd be moresurprised if I should bring 'em here and show 'em the place whereyou found it. 'Twould surprise 'most anybody to know that therewas a man livin' who could see down a black crack four foot deepand two inches wide and around a corner in that crack and see moneylyin' on the floor, and know 'twas money, and then stretch his armout a couple of foot more and thin his wrist down until it was lessthan an inch through and pick up that money. That WOULD surpriseem. Don't you think 'twould, Jed?"

The color left Jed's face. His mouth fell open and he staredblankly at his friend. The latter chuckled. 

"Don't you think 'twould surprise 'em, Jed?" he repeated. "Seemslikely as if 'twould. It surprised me all right enough. "

The color came surging back. Jed's cheeks flamed. He tried tospeak, but what he said was not coherent nor particularlyintelligible. 

"Now--now--now, Sam, " he stammered. "I--I-- You don't understand. You ain't got it right. I--I--"

The captain interrupted. "Don't try so hard, Jed, " he continued. "Take time to get your steam up. You'll bust a b'iler if you puffthat way. Let's see what it is I don't understand. You found thismoney behind those boards?"

"Eh? Yes . . . Yes . . . But--"

"Wait. And you found it this mornin'?"

"Yes . . . Yes . . . But, Sam--"

"Hold on. You saw it layin' on the floor at the bottom of thatcrack?"

"Well--well, I don't know as I saw it exactly, but--but-- No, Ididn't see it. I--I felt it. "

"Oh, you felt it! Thought you said you saw it. Well, you reacheddown and felt it, then. How did you get your arm stretched outfive foot long and three-quarters of an inch thick? Put it underthe steam roller, did you?"

Jed swallowed twice before replying. "I--I--" he began. "Well--well, come to think of it, Sam, I--I guess I didn't feel it with myfingers. I--I took a stick. Yes, that was it. I poked in behindthere with a stick. "

"Oh, you felt it with a stick. And knew 'twas money? Tut, tut!You must have a good sense of touch, Jed, to know bills when youscratch across 'em with the far end of a five foot stick. Pick 'emup with a stick, too, did you?"

Mr. Winslow was speechless. Captain Sam shook his head. 

"And that ain't the most astonishin' part either, " he observed. "While those bills were in the dark at the bottom of that crackthey must have sprouted. They went in there nothin' but tens andtwenties. These you just gave me are fives and twos and all sorts. You'd better poke astern of those boards again, Jed. The rootsmust be down there yet; all you've scratched up are the sprouts. "

His only answer was a hopeless groan. Captain Sam rose and, walking over to where his friend sat with his face buried betweenhis hands, laid his own hand on the latter's shoulder. 

"There, there, Jed, " he said, gently. "I beg your pardon. I'msorry I stirred you up this way. 'Twas mean of me, I know, butwhen you commenced givin' me all this rigmarole I couldn't help it. You never was meant for a liar, old man; you make a mighty poorfist at it. What is it all about? What was you tryin' to do itfor?"

Another groan. The captain tried again. 

"What's the real yarn?" he asked. "What are you actin' this wayfor? Course I know you never found the money. Is there somebody--"

"No! No, no!" Jed's voice rose almost to a shout. He sprang tohis feet and clutched at Captain Sam's coat-sleeve. "No, " heshouted. "Course there ain't anybody. Wh-what makes you say sucha thing as that? I--I tell you I did find the money. I did--Idid. "

"Jed! Of course you didn't. I know you didn't. I KNOW. Graciousking, man, be sensible. "

"I did! I did! I found it and now I give it back to you. Whatmore do you want, Sam Hunniwell? Ain't that enough?"

"Enough! It's a darned sight too much. I tell you I know youdidn't find it. "

"But I did. "

"Rubbish! In the first place, you and I hunted every inch behindthose boards the very day the money was missin', and 'twa'n't therethen. And, besides, this isn't the money I lost. "

"Well--well, what if 'tain't? I don't care. I--I know 'tain't. I--I spent your money. "

"You SPENT it? When? You told me you only found it this mornin'. "

"I--I know I did, but 'twan't so. I--I--" Jed was in an agony ofalarm and frantic haste. "I found your money two or three daysago. Yes, sir, that's when I found it. . . . Er. . . Er . . . "

"Humph! Why didn't you tell me you found it then? If you'd foundit what made you keep runnin' into the bank to ask me if I'D foundit? Why didn't you give it back to me right off? Oh, don't be soridiculous, Jed. "

"I--I ain't. It's true. I--I didn't give it back to you because--because I--I thought first I'd keep it. "

"Keep it? KEEP it? Steal it, do you mean?"

"Yes--yes, that's what I mean. I--I thought first I'd do that andthen I got--got kind of sorry and--and scared and I got some moremoney--and now I'm givin' it back to you. See, don't you, Sam?That's the reason. "

Captain Sam shook his head. "So you decided to be a thief, didyou, Jed?" he said, slowly. "Well, the average person never'd haveguessed you was such a desperate character. . . . Humph! . . . Well, well! . . . What was you goin' to do with the four hundred, provided you had kept it? You spent the money I lost anyway; yousaid you did. What did you spend it for?"

"Oh--oh, some things I needed. "

"Sho! Is that so? What things?"

Jed's shaking hand moved across his chin. 

"Oh--I--I forget, " he faltered. Then, after a desperate struggle, "I--I--I bought a suit of clothes. "

The effort of this confession was a peculiar one. Captain SamHunniwell put back his head and roared with laughter. He was stilllaughing when he picked up his hat and turned to the door. Jedsprang from his seat. 

"Eh? . . . You're not GOIN', are you, Sam?" he cried. Thecaptain, wiping his eyes, turned momentarily. 

"Yes, Jed, " he said, chokingly, "I'm goin'. Say, if--if you gettime some of these days dress up in that four hundred dollar suityou bought and then send me word. I'd like to see it. "

He went out. The door of the outer shop slammed. Jed wiped theperspiration from his forehead and groaned helplessly andhopelessly. 

The captain had reached the gate when he saw Phillips coming alongthe road toward him. He waited until the young man arrived. 

"Hello, Captain, " hailed Charles. "So you decided not to come backto the bank this afternoon, after all?"

His employer nodded. "Yes, " he said. "I've been kept away onbusiness. Funny kind of business, too. Say, Charlie, " he added, "suppose likely your sister and you would be too busy to see me fora few minutes now? I'd like to see if you've got an answer to ariddle. "

"A riddle?"

"Um-hm. I've just had the riddle sprung on me and it's got MY headwhirlin' like a bottle in a tide rip. Can I come into your housefor a minute and spring it on you?"

The young man looked puzzled, which was not surprising, but hisinvitation to come into the house was most cordial. They enteredby the front door. As they came into the little hall they heard aman's voice in the living-room beyond. It was Major Grover's voiceand they heard the major say:

"It doesn't matter at all. Please understand I had no thought ofasking. I merely wanted you to feel that what that fellow said hadno weight with me whatever, and to assure you that I will make itmy business to see that he keeps his mouth shut. As for the otherquestion, Ruth--"

Ruth Armstrong's voice broke in here. 

"Oh, please, " she begged, "not now. I--I am so sorry I can't tellyou everything, but--but it isn't my secret and--and I can't. Perhaps some day-- But please believe that I am grateful, very, very grateful. I shall never forget it. "

Charlie, with an anxious glance at Captain Hunniwell, cleared histhroat loudly. The captain's thoughts, however, were too busy withhis "riddle" to pay attention to the voices in the living-room. Ashe and Phillips entered that apartment Major Grover came into thehall. He seemed a trifle embarrassed, but he nodded to CaptainSam, exchanged greetings with Phillips, and hurried out of thehouse. They found Ruth standing by the rear window and looking outtoward the sea. 

The captain plunged at once into his story. He began by askingMrs. Armstrong if her brother had told her of the missing fourhundred dollars. Charles was inclined to be indignant. 

"Of course I haven't, " he declared. "You asked us all to keepquiet about it and not to tell a soul, and I supposed you meantjust that. "

"Eh? So I did, Charlie, so I did. Beg your pardon, boy. I mighthave known you'd keep your hatches closed. Well, here's the yarn, Mrs. Armstrong. It don't make me out any too everlastin'brilliant. A grown man that would shove that amount of money intohis overcoat pocket and then go sasshayin' from Wapatomac to Orhamain't the kind I'd recommend to ship as cow steward on a cattleboat, to say nothin' of president of a bank. But confessin's goodfor the soul, they say, even if it does make a feller feel like afool, so here goes. I did just that thing. "

He went on to tell of his trip to Wapatomac, his interview withSage, his visit to the windmill shop, his discovery that fourhundred of the fourteen hundred had disappeared. Then he told ofhis attempts to trace it, of Jed's anxious inquiries from day today, and, finally, of the scene he had just passed through. 

"So there you are, " he concluded. "I wish to mercy you'd tell mewhat it all means, for I can't tell myself. If it hadn't been so--so sort of pitiful, and if I hadn't been so puzzled to know whatmade him do it, I cal'late I'd have laughed myself sick to see poorold Jed tryin' to lie. Why, he ain't got the first notion of howto begin; I don't cal'late he ever told a real, up-and-down lieafore in his life. That was funny enough--but when he began totell me he was a thief! Gracious king! And all he could think ofin the way of an excuse was that he stole the four hundred to buy asuit of clothes with. Ho, ho, ho!"

He roared again. Charlie Phillips laughed also. But his sisterdid not laugh. She had seated herself in the rocker by the windowwhen the captain began his tale and now she had drawn back into thecorner where the shadows were deepest. 

"So there you are, " said Captain Sam, again. "There's the riddle. Now what's the answer? Why did he do it? Can either of you guess?"

Phillips shook his head. "You have got me, " he declared. "And themoney he gave you was not the money you lost? You're sure of that?"

"Course I'm sure of it. In the first place I lost a packet ofclean tens and twenties; this stuff I've got in my pocket now isall sorts, ones and twos and fives and everything. And in thesecond place--"

"Pardon me, just a minute, Captain Hunniwell. Where did he get thefour hundred to give you, do you think? He hasn't cashed any largechecks at the bank within the last day or two, and he wouldscarcely have so much on hand in his shop. "

"Not as much as that--no. Although I've known the absent-minded, careless critter to have over two hundred knockin' around among histools and chips and glue pots. Probably he had some to start with, and he got the rest by gettin' folks around town and over toHarniss to cash his checks. Anthony Hammond over there asked me alittle while ago, when I met him down to the wharf, if I thoughtShavin's Winslow was good for a hundred and twenty-five. Said Jedhad sent over by the telephone man's auto and asked him to cash acheck for that much. Hammond said he thought 'twas queer he hadn'tcashed it at our bank; that's why he asked me about it. "

"Humph! But why should he give his own money away in that fashion?And confess to stealing and all that stuff? I never heard of sucha thing. "

"Neither did anybody else. I've known Jed all my life and I nevercan tell what loony thing he's liable to do next. But this beatsall of 'em, I will give in. "

"You don't suppose--you don't suppose he is doing it to help you, because you are his friend? Because he is afraid the bank--or you--may get into trouble because of--well, because of having been socareless?"

Captain Sam laughed once more. "No, no, " he said. "Gracious king, I hope my reputation's good enough to stand the losin' of fourhundred dollars. And Jed knows perfectly well I could put it backmyself, if 'twas necessary, without runnin' me into the poorhouse. No, 'tain't for me he's doin' it. I ain't the reason. "

"And you're quite sure his story is ALL untrue. You don't imaginethat he did find the money, your money, and then, for some reasonor other, change it with smaller bills, and--"

"Sshh, sshh, Charlie, don't waste your breath. I told you I KNEWhe hadn't found the four hundred dollars I lost, didn't I? Well, Ido know it and for the very best of reasons; in fact, my stoppin'into his shop just now was to tell him what I'd heard. You see, Charlie, old Sylvester Sage has got back from Boston and opened uphis house again. And he telephoned me at two o'clock to say thatthe four hundred dollar packet was layin' on his sittin'-room tablejust where I left it when he and I parted company four days or soago. That's how I KNOW Jed didn't find it. "

From the shadowy corner where Ruth Armstrong sat came a little gaspand an exclamation. Charles whistled. 

"Well, by George!" he exclaimed. "That certainly puts a crimp inJed's confession. "

"Sartin sure it does. When Sylvester and I parted we was bothpretty hot under the collar, havin' called each other's politicsabout every mean name we could think of. I grabbed up my gloves, and what I thought was my money from the table and slammed out ofthe house. Seems all I grabbed was the two five hundred packages;the four hundred one was shoved under some papers and magazines andthere it stayed till Sylvester got back from his Boston cruise. 

"But that don't answer my riddle, " he added, impatiently. "Whatmade Jed act the way he did? Got the answer, Charlie?"

The young man shook his head. "No, by George, I haven't!" hereplied. 

"How about you, Mrs. Armstrong? Can you help us out?"

Ruth's answer was brief. "No, I'm afraid not, " she said. Therewas a queer note in her voice which caused her brother to glance ather, but Captain Hunniwell did not notice. He turned to go. 

"Well, " he said, "I wish you'd think it over and see if you can spyland anywheres ahead. I need a pilot. This course is too crookedfor me. I'm goin' home to ask Maud; maybe she can see a light. Solong. "

He went out. When Charles returned, having accompanied hisemployer as far as the door, he found Ruth standing by her chairand looking at him. A glance at her face caused him to stop shortand look at her. 

"Why, Ruth, " he asked, "what is it?"

She was pale and trembling. There were tears in her eyes. 

"Oh, Charlie, " she cried, "can't you see? He--he did it for you. "

"Did it for me? Did what? Who? What are you talking about, Sis?"

"Jed. Jed Winslow. Don't you see, Charlie? He pretended to havefound the money and to have stolen it just to save you. He thoughtyou--he thought you had taken it. "

"WHAT? Thought I had taken it? I had? Why in the devil should hethink--"

He stopped. When he next spoke it was in a different tone. 

"Sis, " he asked, slowly, "do you mean that he thought I took thismoney because he knew I had--had done that thing at Middleford?Does he know--about that?"

The tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, Charlie, " shesaid, "he knows. He found it out, partly by accident, before youcame here. And--and think how loyal, how wonderful he has been!It was through him that you got your opportunity there at the bank. And now--now he has done this to save you. Oh, Charlie!"

CHAPTER XIX

The clock in the steeple of the Methodist church boomed eleventimes and still the lights shone from the sitting-room windows ofthe little Winslow house and from those of Jed's living quartersbehind his windmill shop. At that time of year and at that time ofnight there were few windows alight in Orham, and Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he been astir at such an hour, might have wondered why theArmstrongs and "Shavings" were "settin' up. " Fortunately for everyone except him, Gabe was in bed and asleep, otherwise he might havepeeped under Jed's kitchen window shade--he had been accused ofdoing such things--and had he done so he would have seen Jed andCharlie Phillips in deep and earnest conversation. Neither wouldhave wished to be seen just then; their interview was far toointimate and serious for that. 

They had been talking since eight. Charles and his sister had hada long conversation following Captain Hunniwell's visit and then, after a pretense at supper--a pretense made largely on Babbie'saccount--the young man had come straight to the shop and to Jed. He had found the latter in a state of extreme dejection. He wassitting before the little writing table in his living-room, hiselbows on the desk and his head in his hands. The drawer of thetable was open and Jed was, apparently, gazing intently atsomething within. When Phillips entered the room he started, hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale and distressedface to his visitor. 

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it's you, Charlie, ain't it? I--I--er--good mornin'. It's--it's a nice day. "

Charles smiled slightly and shook his head. 

"You're a little mixed on the time, aren't you, Jed?" he observed. "It WAS a nice day, but it is a nice evening now. "

"Eh? Is it? Land sakes, I presume likely 'tis. Must be aftersupper time, I shouldn't wonder. "

"Supper time! Why, it's after eight o'clock. Didn't you know it?"

"No-o. No, I guess not. I--I kind of lost run of the time, seemsso. "

"Haven't you had any supper?"

"No-o. I didn't seem to care about supper, somehow. "

"But haven't you eaten anything?"

"No. I did make myself a cup of tea, but twan't what you'd call asuccess. . . . I forgot to put the tea in it. . . . But it don'tmake any difference; I ain't hungry--or thirsty, either. "

Phillips leaned forward and laid a hand on the older man's shoulder. 

"Jed, " he said gently, "I know why you're not hungry. Oh, Jed, what in the world made you do it?"

Jed started back so violently that his chair almost upset. Heraised a hand with the gesture of one warding off a blow. 

"Do?" he gasped. "Do what?"

"Why, what you did about that money that Captain Hunniwell lost. What made you do it, Jed?"

Jed's eyes closed momentarily. Then he opened them and, withoutlooking at his visitor, rose slowly to his feet. 

"So Sam told you, " he said, with a sigh. "I--I didn't hardly thinkhe'd do that. . . . Course 'twas all right for him to tell, " headded hastily. "I didn't ask him not to, but--but, he and I havin'been--er--chums, as you might say, for so long, I--I sort ofthought. . . . Well, it don't make any difference, I guess. Didhe tell your--your sister? Did he tell her how I--how I stole themoney?"

Charles shook his head. 

"No, " he said quietly. "No, he didn't tell either of us that. Hetold us that you had tried to make him believe you took the money, but that he knew you were not telling the truth. He knew youdidn't take it. "

"Eh? Now . . . Now, Charlie, that ain't so. " Jed was even moredisturbed and distressed than before. "I--I told Sam I took itand--and kept it. I TOLD him I did. What more does he want?What's he goin' around tellin' folks I didn't for? What--"

"Hush, Jed! He knows you didn't take it. He knew it all the timeyou were telling him you did. In fact he came into your shop thisafternoon to tell you that the Sage man over at Wapatomac had foundthe four hundred dollars on the table in his sitting-room justwhere the captain left it. Sage had just 'phoned him that verything. He would have told you that, but you didn't give him thechance. Jed, I--"

But Jed interrupted. His expression as he listened had beenchanging like the sky on a windy day in April. 

"Here, here!" he cried wildly. "What--what kind of talk's that?Do--do you mean to tell me that Sam Hunniwell never lost that moneyat all? That all he did was leave it over at Wapatomac?"

"Yes, that's just what I mean. "

"Then--then all the time when I was--was givin' him the--the othermoney and tellin' him how I found it and--and all--he knew--"

"Certainly he knew. I've just told you that he knew. "

Jed sat heavily down in the chair once more. He passed his handslowly across his chin. 

"He knew!" he repeated. "He knew! . . . " Then, with a sudden gaspas the full significance of the thought came to him, he cried:"Why, if--if the money wasn't ever lost you couldn't--you--"

Charles shook his head: "No, Jed, " he said, "I couldn't have takenit. And I didn't take it. "

Jed gasped again. He stretched out a hand imploringly. "Oh, Lord, " he exclaimed, "I never meant to say that. I--I--"

"It's all right, Jed. I don't blame you for thinking I might havetaken it. Knowing what you did about--well, about my past record, it is not very astonishing that you should think almost anything. "

Jed's agonized contrition was acute. 

"Don't talk so, Charlie!" he pleaded. "Don't! I--I'd ought to beashamed of myself. I am--mercy knows I am! But . . . Eh? Why, how did you know I knew about--that?"

"Ruth told me just now. After Captain Hunniwell had gone, she toldme the whole thing. About how Babbie let the cat out of the bagand how she told you for fear you might suspect something evenworse than the truth; although, " he added, "that was quite badenough. Yes, she told me everything. You've been a brick allthrough, Jed. And now--"

"Wait, Charlie, wait. I--I don't know what to say to you. I don'tknow what you must think of me for ever--ever once suspectin' you. If you hadn't said to me only such a little spell ago that youneeded money so bad and would do most anything to get five hundreddollars--if you hadn't said that, I don't think the notion wouldever have crossed my mind. "

Phillips whistled. "Well, by George!" he exclaimed. "I hadforgotten that. No wonder you thought I had gone crooked again. Humph! . . . Well, I'll tell you why I wanted that money. Yousee, I've been trying to pay back to the man in Middleford themoney of his which--which I took before. It is two thousanddollars and, " with a shrug, "that looks a good deal bigger sum tome now than it used to, you can bet on that. I had a few hundredin a New York savings bank before I--well, before they shut me up. No one knew about it, not even Sis. I didn't tell her because--well, I wish I could say it was because I was intending to use itto pay back what I had taken, but that wasn't the real reason why Ikept still about it. To tell you the truth, Jed, I didn't feel--no, I don't feel yet any too forgiving or kindly toward that chapwho had me put in prison. I'm not shirking blame; I was a fool anda scamp and all that; but he is--he's a hard man, Jed. "

Jed nodded. "Seems to me Ru--your sister said he was a consider'bleof a professer, " he observed. 

"Professor? Why no, he was a bond broker. "

"I mean that he professed religion a good deal. Called himself aChristian and such kind of names. "

Phillips smiled bitterly. "If he is a Christian I prefer to be aheathen, " he observed. 

"Um-hm. Well, maybe he ain't one. You could teach a parrot toholler 'Praise the Lord, ' I cal'late, and the more crackers he gotby it the louder he'd holler. So you never said anything about thefour hundred you had put by, Charlie. "

"No. I felt that I had been treated badly and--why, Jed, the manused to urge me to dress better than I could afford, to belong tothe most expensive club and all that sort of thing. He knew I wasin with a set sporting ten times the money I could muster, andspending it, too, but he seemed to like to have me associate withthem. Said it was good for the business. "

"Sartin! More crackers for Polly. Go on. "

"I intended that he should never have that money, but after I camehere, after I had been here for a time, I changed my mind. I sawthings in a different light. I wrote him a letter, told him Imeant to pay back every cent of the two thousand I had taken andenclosed my check for the seven hundred and fifty I had put by. Since then I have paid him two hundred and fifty more, goodnessknows how. I have squeezed every penny from my salary that I couldspare. I have paid him half of the two thousand and, if everythinghad gone on well, some day or other I would have paid the otherhalf. "

Jed laid a hand on his companion's knee. "Good boy, Charlie, " hesaid. "And how did the--er--professin' poll parrot act about yourpayin' it back?"

Charles smiled faintly. "Just before I talked with you that day, Jed, " he said, "I received a letter from him stating that he didnot feel I was paying as rapidly as I could and that, if he did notreceive another five hundred shortly he should feel it his duty tocommunicate with my present employers. Do you wonder I said Iwould do almost anything to get the money?"

Jed's hand patted the knee sympathetically. 

"Sho, sho, sho!" he exclaimed. "Have you heard from him since?"

"No, I wrote him that I was paying as fast as I could and that ifhe communicated with my employers that would end any chances of hisever getting more. He hasn't written since; afraid of stopping thegolden egg supply, I presume. . . . But there, " he added, "that'senough of that. Jed, how could you do it--just for me? Of courseI had come to realize that your heart was as big as a bushelbasket, and that you and I were friends. But when a fellow givesup four hundred dollars of his own money, and, not only does that, but deliberately confesses himself a thief--when he does that tosave some one else who, as he knew, had really been a thief and whohe was pretty sure must have stolen again--why, Jed, it isunbelievable. Why did you do it? What can I say to you?"

Jed held up a protesting hand. 

"Don't say anything, " he stammered. "Don't! It's--it's allfoolishness, anyhow. "

"Foolishness! It's--oh, I don't know what it is! And to sacrificeyour reputation and your character and your friendship with CaptainHunniwell, all for me! I can't understand it. "

"Now--now--now, Charlie, don't try to. If I can't understandmyself more'n half the time, what's the use of your strainin' yourbrains? I--I just took a notion, that's all. I--"

"But, Jed, why did you do it--for me? I have heard of men doingsuch things for--for women, sacrificing themselves to save a womanthey were in love with. You read of that in books and--yes, Ithink I can understand that. But for you to do it--for ME!"

Jed waved both hands this time. "Sshh! sshh!" he cried, in franticprotest. His face was a brilliant crimson and his embarrassmentand confusion were so acute as to be laughable, although Phillipswas far from laughing. "Sshh, sshh, Charlie, " pleaded Jed. "You--you don't know what you're talkin' about. You're makin' an awfulfuss about nothin'. Sshh! Yes, you are, too. I didn't have anynotion of tellin' Sam I stole that four hundred when I first gaveit to him. I was goin' to tell him I found it, that's all. Thatwould keep him bottled up, I figgered, and satisfied and then--thenyou and I'd have a talk and I'd tell you what I'd done and--well, some day maybe you could pay me back the money; don't you see? Ido hope, " he added anxiously, "you won't hold it against me, forthinkin' maybe you had taken it. Course I'd ought to have knownbetter. I would have known better if I'd been anybody but Shavin'sWinslow. HE ain't responsible. "

"Hush, Jed, hush! But why did you say you had--kept it?"

"Eh? Oh, that was Sam's doin's. He commenced to ask questions, and, the first thing I knew, he had me on the spider fryin' over ahot fire. The more I sizzled and sputtered and tried to get out ofthat spider, the more he poked up the fire. I declare, I neverknew lyin' was such a job! When I see how easy and natural itcomes to some folks I feel kind of ashamed to think what a poorshow I made at it. Well, Sam kept pokin' the fire and heatin' meup till I got desperate and swore I stole the money instead offindin' it. And that was hoppin' out of the fryin' pan INTO thefire, " he drawled reflectively. 

Charles smiled. "Captain Sam said you told him you took the moneyto buy a suit of clothes with, " he suggested. 

"Eh? Did I? Sho! That was a real bright idea of mine, wasn't it?A suit of clothes. Humph! Wonder I didn't say I bought shoe lacesor collar buttons or somethin'. . . . Sho! . . . Dear, dear!Well, they say George Washin'ton couldn't tell a lie and I'veproved I can't either; only I've tried to tell one and I don'trecollect that he ever did that. . . . Humph! . . . A suit ofclothes. . . . Four hundred dollars. . . . Solomon in all hisglory would have looked like a calico shirt and a pair of overallsalongside of me, eh? . . . Humph!"

Phillips shook his head. "Nevertheless, Jed, " he declared, "Ican't understand why you did it and I never--never shall forget it. Neither will Ruth. She will tell you so to-morrow. "

Jed was frightened. "No, no, no, she mustn't, " he cried, quickly. "I--I don't want her to talk about it. I--I don't want anybody totalk about it. Please tell her not to, Charlie! Please! It's--it's all such foolishness anyhow. Let's forget it. "

"It isn't the sort of thing one forgets easily. But we won't talkof it any more just now, if that pleases you better. I have someother things to talk about and I must talk about them with someone. I MUST--I've got to. "

Jed looked at him. The words reminded him forcibly of Ruth's onthat day when she had come to the windmill shop to tell him herbrother's story and to discuss the question of his coming to Orham. She, too, had said that she must talk with some one--she MUST. 

"Have--you talked 'em over with--with your sister?" he asked. 

"Yes. But she and I don't agree completely in the matter. Yousee, Ruth thinks the world of me, she always did, a great deal morethan I deserve, ever have deserved or ever will. And in thismatter she thinks first of all of me--what will become of meprovided--well, provided things don't go as I should like to havethem. That isn't the way I want to face the question. I want toknow what is best for every one, for her, for me and--and for someone else--most of all for some one else, I guess, " he added. 

Jed nodded slowly. "For Maud, " he said. 

Charles looked at him. "How on earth--?" he demanded. "What inblazes are you--a clairvoyant?"

"No-o. No. But it don't need a spirit medium to see through awindow pane, Charlie; that is, the average window pane, " he added, with a glance at his own, which were in need of washing just then. "You want to know, " he continued, "what you'd ought to do now thatwill be the right thing, or the nighest to the right thing, foryour sister and Babbie and yourself--and Maud. "

"Yes, I do. It isn't any new question for me. I've been puttingit up to myself for a long time, for months; by, George, it seemsyears. "

"I know. I know. Well, Charlie, I've been puttin' it up tomyself, too. Have you got any answer?"

"No, none that exactly suits me. Have you?"

"I don't know's I have--exactly. "

"Exactly? Well, have you any, exact or otherwise?"

"Um. . . . Well, I've got one, but . . . But perhaps it ain't ananswer. Perhaps it wouldn't do at all. Perhaps . . . Perhaps . . . "

"Never mind the perhapses. What is it?"

"Um. . . . Suppose we let it wait a little spell and talk thesituation over just a little mite. You've been talkin' with yoursister, you say, and she don't entirely agree with you. "

"No. I say things can't go on as they've been going. They can't. "

"Um-hm. Meanin'--what things?"

"Everything. Jed, do you remember that day when you and I had thetalk about poetry and all that? When you quoted that poem about achap's fearing his fate too much? Well, I've been fearing my fateever since I began to realize what a mess I was getting into herein Orham. When I first came I saw, of course, that I was skatingon thin ice, and it was likely to break under me at any time. Iknew perfectly well that some day the Middleford business was boundto come out and that my accepting the bank offer without tellingCaptain Hunniwell or any one was a mighty risky, not to say mean, business. But Ruth was so very anxious that I should accept andkept begging me not to tell, at least until they had had a chanceto learn that I was worth something, that I gave in and . . . Isay, Jed, " he put in, breaking his own sentence in the middle, "don't think I'm trying to shove the blame over on to Sis. It'snot that. "

Jed nodded. "Sho, sho, Charlie, " he said, "course 'tain't. Iunderstand. "

"No, I'll take the blame. I was old enough to have a mind of myown. Well, as I was saying, I realized it all, but I didn't careso much. If the smash did come, I figured, it might not come untilI had established myself at the bank, until they might have foundme valuable enough to keep on in spite of it. And I worked mightyhard to make them like me. Then--then--well, then Maud and Ibecame friends and--and--oh, confound it, you see what I mean! Youmust see. "

The Winslow knee was clasped between the Winslow hands and theWinslow foot was swinging. Jed nodded again. 

"I see, Charlie, " he said. 

"And--and here I am. The smash has come, in a way, already. Babbitt, so Ruth tells me, knows the whole story and was threateningto tell, but she says Grover assures her that he won't tell, that he, the major, has a club over the old fellow which will prevent histelling. Do you think that's true?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. Major Grover sartinly did seem to putthe fear of the Lord into Phin this afternoon. . . . And that'sno one-horse miracle, " he drawled, "when you consider that allthe ministers in Orham haven't been able to do it for forty oddyears. . . . Um. . . . Yes, I kind of cal'late Phin'll keep hishatches shut. He may bust his b'iler and blow up with spite, buthe won't talk about you, Charlie, I honestly believe. And we canall thank the major for that. "

"I shall thank him, for one!"

"Mercy on us! No, no. He doesn't know your story at all. He justthinks Babbitt was circulatin' lies about Ruth--about your sister. You mustn't mention the Middleford--er--mess to Major Grover. "

"Humph! Well, unless I'm greatly mistaken, Ruth--"

"Eh? Ruth--what?"

"Oh, nothing. Never mind that now. And allowing that Babbittwill, as you say, keep his mouth shut, admitting that the situationis just what it was before Captain Hunniwell lost the money orBabbitt came into the affair at all, still I've made up my mindthat things can't go on as they are. Jed, I--it's a mighty hardthing to say to another man, but--the world--my world--just beginsand ends with--with her. "

His fists clenched and his jaw set as he said it. Jed bowed hishead. 

"With Maud, you mean, " he said. 

"Yes. I--I don't care for anything else or anybody else. . . . Oh, of course I don't mean just that, you know. I do care for Sisand Babbie. But--they're different. "

"I understand, Charlie. "

"No, you don't. How can you? Nobody can understand, least of alla set old crank like you, Jed, and a confirmed bachelor besides. Beg pardon for contradicting you, but you don't understand, youcan't. "

Jed gazed soberly at the floor. 

"Maybe I can understand a little, Charlie, " he drawled gently. 

"Well, all right. Let it go at that. The fact is that I'm at acrisis. "

"Just a half minute, now. Have you said anything to Maud about--about how you feel?"

"Of course I haven't, " indignantly. "How could I, without tellingher everything?"

"That's right, that's right. Course you couldn't, and be fair andhonorable. . . . Hum. . . . Then you don't know whether or notshe--er--feels the same way about--about you?"

Charles hesitated. "No-o, " he hesitated. "No, I don't know, ofcourse. But I--I feel--I--"

"You feel that that part of the situation ain't what you'd callhopeless, eh? . . . Um. . . . Well, judgin' from what I've heard, I shouldn't call it that, either. Would it surprise you to know, Charlie, that her dad and I had a little talk on this very subjectnot so very long ago?"

Evidently it did surprise him. Charles gasped and turned red. 

"Captain Hunniwell!" he exclaimed. "Did Captain Hunniwell talkwith you about--about Maud and--and me?"

"Yes. "

"Well, by George! Then he suspected--he guessed that-- That'sstrange. "

Jed relinquished the grip of one hand upon his knee long enough tostroke his chin. 

"Um . . . Yes, " he drawled drily. "It's worse than strange, it's--er--paralyzin'. More clairvoyants in Orham than you thought therewas; eh, Charlie?"

"But why should he talk with you on that subject; about anythingso--er--personal and confidential as that? With YOU, you know!"

Jed's slow smile drifted into sight and vanished again. Hepermitted himself the luxury of a retort. 

"Well, " he observed musingly, "as to that I can't say for certain. Maybe he did it for the same reason you're doin' it now, Charlie. "

The young man evidently had not thought of it in just that light. He looked surprised and still more puzzled. 

"Why, yes, " he admitted. "So I am, of course. And I do talk toyou about things I never would think of mentioning to other people. And Ruth says she does. That's queer, too. But we are--er--neighbors of yours and--and tenants, you know. We've known youever since we came to Orham. "

"Ye-es. And Sam's known me ever since I came. Anyhow he talkedwith me about you and Maud. I don't think I shall be sayin' more'nI ought to if I tell you that he likes you, Charlie. "

"Does he?" eagerly. "By George, I'm glad of that! But, oh, well, "with a sigh, "he doesn't know. If he did know my record he mightnot like me so well. And as for my marrying his daughter--goodNIGHT!" with hopeless emphasis. 

"No, not good night by any means. Maybe it's only good mornin'. Go on and tell me what you mean by bein' at a crisis, as you said aminute ago. "

"I mean just that. The time has come when I must speak to Maud. Imust find out if--find out how she feels about me. And I can'tspeak to her, honorably, without telling her everything. Andsuppose she should care enough for me to--to--suppose she shouldcare in spite of everything, there's her father. She is his onlydaughter; he worships the ground she steps on. Suppose I tell himI've been, " bitterly, "a crook and a jailbird; what will HE thinkof me--as a son-in-law? And now suppose he was fool enough toconsent--which isn't supposable--how could I stay here, working forhim, sponging a living from him, with this thing hanging over usall? No, I can't--I can't. Whatever else happens I can't do that. And I can't go on as I am--or I won't. Now what am I going to do?"

He had risen and was pacing the floor. Jed asked a question. 

"What does your sister want you to do?" he asked. 

"Ruth? Oh, as I told you, she thinks of no one but me. Howdreadful it would be for me to tell of my Middleford record! Howawful if I lost my position in the bank! Suppose they dischargedme and the town learned why! I've tried to make her see that, compared to the question of Maud, nothing else matters at all, butI'm afraid she doesn't see it as I do. She only sees--me. "

"Her brother. Um . . . Yes, I know. "

"Yes. Well, we talked and talked, but we got nowhere. So at lastI said I was coming out to thank you for what you did to save me, Jed. I could hardly believe it then; I can scarcely believe itnow. It was too much for any man to do for another. And she saidto talk the whole puzzle out with you. She seems to have all theconfidence on earth in your judgment, Jed. She is as willing toleave a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leaveone to your wooden prophet up on the shelf there; what's-his-name--er--Isaiah. "

Jed looked greatly pleased, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid herconfidence ain't founded on a rock, like the feller's house in theBible, " he drawled. "My decisions are liable to stick half waybetwixt and between, same as--er--Jeremiah's do. But, " he added, gravely, "I have been thinkin' pretty seriously about you and yourparticular puzzle, Charlie, and--and I ain't sure that I don't seeone way out of the fog. It may be a hard way, and it may turn outwrong, and it may not be anything you'll agree to. But--"

"What is it? If it's anything even half way satisfactory I'llbelieve you're the wisest man on earth, Jed Winslow. "

"Well, if I thought you was liable to believe that I'd tell you tosend your believer to the blacksmith's 'cause there was somethin'wrong with it. No, I ain't wise, far from it. But, Charlie, Ithink you're dead right about what you say concernin' Maud and herfather and you. You CAN'T tell her without tellin' him. For yourown sake you mustn't tell him without tellin' her. And youshouldn't, as a straight up and down, honorable man keep on workin'for Sam when you ask him, under these circumstances, to give youhis daughter. You can't afford to have her say 'yes' because shepities you, nor to have him give in to her because she begs him to. No, you want to be independent, to go to both of 'em and say:'Here's my story and here am I. You know now what I did and youknow, too, what I've been and how I've behaved since I've been withyou. ' You want to say to Maud: 'Do you care enough for me to marryme in spite of what I've done and where I've been?' And to Sam:'Providin' your daughter does care for me, I mean to marry her someday or other. And you can't be on his pay roll when you say that, as I see it. "

Phillips stopped in his stride. 

"You've put it just as it is, " he declared emphatically. "There'sthe situation--what then? For I tell you now, Jed Winslow, I won'tgive her up until she tells me to. "

"Course not, Charlie, course not. But there's one thing more--ortwo things, rather. There's your sister and Babbie. Suppose youdo haul up stakes and quit workin' for Sam at the bank; can theyget along without your support? Without the money you earn?"

The young man nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, " he replied, "I see noreason why they can't. They did before I came, you know. Ruth hasa little money of her own, enough to keep her and Barbara in theway they live here in Orham. She couldn't support me as a loafer, of course, and you can bet I should never let her try, but shecould get on quite well without me. . . . Besides, I am not sosure that . . . "

"Eh? What was you goin' to say, Charlie?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. I have had a feeling, a slight suspicion, recently, that-- But never mind that; I have no right to even hintat such a thing. What are you trying to get at, Jed?"

"Get at?"

"Yes. Why did you ask that question about Ruth and Barbara? Youdon't mean that you see a way out for me, do you?"

"W-e-e-ll, I . . . Er . . . I don't cal'late I'd want to go so faras to say that, hardly. No-o, I don't know's it's a way out--quite. But, as I've told you I've been thinkin' about you and Mauda pretty good deal lately and . . . Er . . . Hum . . . "

"For heaven's sake, hurry up! Don't go to sleep now, man, of alltimes. Tell me, what do you mean? What can I do?"

Jed's foot dropped to the floor. He sat erect and regarded hiscompanion intently over his spectacles. His face was very grave. 

"There's one thing you can do, Charlie, " he said. 

"What is it? Tell me, quick. "

"Just a minute. Doin' it won't mean necessarily that you're out ofyour worries and troubles. It won't mean that you mustn't make aclean breast of everything to Maud and to Sam. That you must doand I know, from what you've said to me, that you feel you must. And it won't mean that your doin' this thing will necessarily makeeither Maud or Sam say yes to the question you want to ask 'em. That question they'll answer themselves, of course. But, as I seeit, if you do this thing you'll be free and independent, a mandoin' a man's job and ready to speak to Sam Hunniwell or anybodyelse LIKE a man. And that's somethin'. "

"Something! By George, it's everything! What is this man's job?Tell me, quick. "

And Jed told him. 

CHAPTER XX

Mr. Gabe Bearse lost another opportunity the next morning. Thelate bird misses the early worm and, as Gabriel was still slumberingpeacefully at six A. M. , he missed seeing Ruth Armstrong and herbrother emerge from the door of the Winslow house at that hourand walk to the gate together. Charles was carrying a smalltraveling bag. Ruth's face was white and her eyes were suspiciouslydamp, but she was evidently trying hard to appear calm and cheerful. As they stood talking by the gate, Jed Winslow emerged from thewindmill shop and, crossing the lawn, joined them. 

The three talked for a moment and then Charles held out his hand. 

"Well, so long, Jed, " he said. "If all goes well I shall be backhere to-morrow. Wish me luck. "

"I'll be wishin' it for you, Charlie, all day and all night withdouble time after hours and no allowance for meals, " replied Jedearnestly. "You think Sam'll get your note all right?"

"Yes, I shall tuck it under the bank door as I go by. If he shouldask what the business was which called me to Boston so suddenly, just dodge the question as well as you can, won't you, Jed?"

"Sartin sure. He'll think he's dealin' with that colored man thatsticks his head through the sheet over to the Ostable fair, the onethe boys heave baseballs at. No, he won't get anything out of me, Charlie. And the other letter; that'll get to--to her?"

The young man nodded gravely. "I shall mail it at the post-officenow, " he said. "Don't talk about it, please. Well, Sis, good-by--until to-morrow. "

Jed turned his head. When he looked again Phillips was walkingrapidly away along the sidewalk. Ruth, leaning over the fence, watched him as long as he was in sight. And Jed watched heranxiously. When she turned he ventured to speak. 

"Don't worry, " he begged. "Don't. He's doin' the right thing. Iknow he is. "

She wiped her eyes. "Oh, perhaps he is, " she said sadly. "I hopehe is. "

"I know he is. I only wish I could do it, too. . . . I would, " hedrawled, solemnly, "only for nineteen or twenty reasons, the firstone of 'em bein' that they wouldn't let me. "

She made no comment on this observation. They walked together backtoward the house. 

"Jed, " she said, after a moment, "it has come at last, hasn't it, the day we have foreseen and that I have dreaded so? Poor Charlie!Think what this means to him. "

Jed nodded. "He's puttin' it to the touch, to win or lose it all, "he agreed, "same as was in the poem he and I talked about thattime. Well, I honestly believe he feels better now that he's madeup his mind to do it, better than he has for many a long day. "

"Yes, I suppose he does. And he is doing, too, what he has wantedto do ever since he came here. He told me so when he came in fromhis long interview with you last night. He and I talked until itwas almost day and we told each other--many things. "

She paused. Jed, looking up, caught her eye. To his surprise shecolored and seemed slightly confused. 

"He had not said anything before, " she went on rather hurriedly, "because he thought I would feel so terribly to have him do it. SoI should, and so I do, of course--in one way, but in another I amglad. Glad, and very proud. "

"Sartin. He'll make us all proud of him, or I miss my guess. And, as for the rest of it, the big question that counts most of all tohim, I hope--yes, I think that's comin' out all right, too. Ruth, "he added, "you remember what I told you about Sam's talk with methat afternoon when he came back from Wapatomac. If Maud cares forhim as much as all that she ain't goin' to throw him over onaccount of what happened in Middleford. "

"No--no, not if she really cares. But does she care--enough?"

"I hope so. I guess so. But if she doesn't it's better for him toknow it, and know it now. . . . Dear, dear!" he added, "how I dofire off opinions, don't I? A body'd think I was loaded up withwisdom same as one of those machine guns is with cartridges. Aboutall I'm loaded with is blanks, I cal'late. "

She was not paying attention to this outburst, but, standing withone hand upon the latch of the kitchen door, she seemed to bethinking deeply. 

"I think you are right, " she said slowly. "Yes, I think you areright. It IS better to know. . . . Jed, suppose--suppose youcared for some one, would the fact that her brother had been inprison make any difference in--in your feeling?"

Jed actually staggered. She was not looking at him, nor did shelook at him now. 

"Eh?" he cried. "Why--why, Ruth, what--what--?"

She smiled faintly. "And that was a foolish question, too, " shesaid. "Foolish to ask you, of all men. . . . Well, I must go onand get Babbie's breakfast. Poor child, she is going to miss herUncle Charlie. We shall all miss him. . . . But there, I promisedhim I would be brave. Good morning, Jed. "

"But--but, Ruth, what-what--?"

She had not heard him. The door closed. Jed stood staring at itfor some minutes. Then he crossed the lawn to his own littlekitchen. The performances he went through during the next hourwould have confirmed the opinion of Mr. Bearse and his coterie that"Shavings" Winslow was "next door to loony. " He cooked abreakfast, but how he cooked it or of what it consisted he couldnot have told. The next day he found the stove-lid lifter on aplate in the ice chest. Whatever became of the left-over pork chopwhich should have been there he had no idea. 

Babbie came dancing in at noon on her way home from school. Shefound her Uncle Jed in a curious mood, a mood which seemed to be acompound of absent-mindedness and silence broken by sudden fits ofsong and hilarity. He was sitting by the bench when she enteredand was holding an oily rag in one hand and a piece of emery paperin the other. He was looking neither at paper nor rag, nor atanything else in particular so far as she could see, and he did notnotice her presence at all. Suddenly he began to rub the paper andthe rag together and to sing at the top of his voice:

 "'He's my lily of the valley, My bright and mornin' star; He's the fairest of ten thousand to my soul--Hallelujah! He's my di-dum-du-dum-di-dum-- Di--'"

Barbara burst out laughing. Mr. Winslow's hallelujah chorusstopped in the middle and he turned. 

"Eh?" he exclaimed, looking over his spectacles. "Oh, it's you!Sakes alive, child, how do you get around so quiet? Haven'tborrowed the cat's feet to walk, on, have you?"

Babbie laughed again and replied that she guessed the cat wouldn'tlend her feet. 

"She would want 'em herself, prob'ly, Uncle Jed, " she added. "Don't you think so?"

Jed appeared to consider. 

"Well, " he drawled, "she might, I presume likely, be as selfish andunreasonable as all that. But then again she might . . . Hum . . . What was it the cat walked on in that story you and I was readin'together a spell ago? That--er--Sure Enough story--you know. ByKipling, 'twas. "

"Oh, I know! It wasn't a Sure Enough story; it was a 'Just So'story. And the name of it was 'The Cat Who Walked by His WildLone. '"

Jed looked deeply disappointed. "Sho!" he sighed. "I thought'twas on his wild lone he walked. I was thinkin' that maybe he'dgone walkin' on that for a spell and had lent you his feet. . . . Hum. . . . Dear, dear!

 "'Oh, trust and obey, For there's no other way To be de-de-de-di-dum-- But to trust and obey. '"

Here he relapsed into another daydream. After waiting for amoment, Babbie ventured to arouse him. 

"Uncle Jed, " she asked, "what were you doing with those things inyour hand--when I came in, you know? That cloth and that piece ofpaper. You looked so funny, rubbing them together, that I couldn'thelp laughing. "

Jed regarded her solemnly. "It's emery paper, " he said; "like finesandpaper, you know. And the cloth's got ile in it. I'm cleanin'the rust off this screwdriver. I hadn't used it for more'n afortni't and it got pretty rusty this damp weather. "

The child looked at him wonderingly. 

"But, Uncle Jed, " she said, "there isn't any screwdriver. Anyhow Idon't see any. You were just rubbing the sandpaper and the clothtogether and singing. That's why it looked so funny. "

Jed inspected first one hand and then the other. 

"Hum!" he drawled. "Hu-um! . . . Well, I declare! . . . Now youmention it, there don't seem to be any screwdriver, does there? . . . Here 'tis on the bench. . . . And I was rubbin' the sandpaperwith ile, or ilin' the sandpaper with the rag, whichever youlike. . . . Hum, ye-es, I should think it might have lookedfunny. . . . Babbie, if you see me walkin' around without anyhead some mornin' don't be scared. You'll know that that partof me ain't got out of bed yet, that's all. "

Barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him. "Uncle Jed, " she said, "you've been thinking about something, haven't you?"

"Eh? . . . Why, yes, I--I guess likely maybe I have. How did youknow?"

"Oh, 'cause I did. Petunia and I know you ever and ever so wellnow and we're used to--to the way you do. Mamma says things likeforgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks. Is this whatyou've been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?"

Jed slowly shook his head. "I--I don't know, " he groaned. "Idasn't believe-- There, there! That's enough of my tricks. How'sPetunia's hair curlin' this mornin'?"

After the child left him he tried to prepare his dinner, but it wasas unsatisfactory a meal as breakfast had been. He couldn't eat, he couldn't work. He could only think, and thinking meantalternate periods of delirious hope and black depression. He satdown before the little table in his living-room and, opening thedrawer, saw Ruth Armstrong's pictured face looking up at him. 

"Jed! Oh, Jed!"

It was Maud Hunniwell's voice. She had entered the shop and theliving-room without his hearing her and now she was standing behindhim with her hand upon his shoulder. He started, turned and lookedup into her face. And one glance caused him to forget himself andeven the pictured face in the drawer for the time and to think onlyof her. 

"Maud!" he exclaimed. "Maud!"

Her hair, usually so carefully arranged, was disordered; her hatwas not adjusted at its usual exact angle; and as for the silverfox, it hung limply backside front. Her eyes were red and she helda handkerchief in one hand and a letter in the other. 

"Oh, Jed!" she cried. 

Jed put out his hands. "There, there, Maud!" he said. "There, there, little girl. "

They had been confidants since her babyhood, these two. She cameto him now, and putting her head upon his shoulder, burst into astorm of weeping. Jed stroked her hair. 

"There, there, Maud, " he said gently. "Don't, girlie, don't. It'sgoin' to be all right, I know it. . . . And so you came to me, didyou? I'm awful glad you did, I am so. "

"He asked me to come, " she sobbed. "He wrote it--in--in theletter. "

Jed led her over to a chair. "Sit down, girlie, " he said, "andtell me all about it. You got the letter, then?"

She nodded. "Yes, " she said, chokingly; "it--it just came. Oh, Iam so glad Father did not come home to dinner to-day. He wouldhave--have seen me and--and--oh, why did he do it, Jed? Why?"

Jed shook his head. "He had to do it, Maud, " he answered. "Hewanted to do the right thing and the honorable thing. And youwould rather have had him do that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh--oh, I don't know. But why didn't he come to me and tell me?Why did he go away and--and write me he had gone to enlist? Whydidn't he come to me first? Oh. . . . Oh, Jed, how COULD he treatme so?"

She was sobbing again. Jed took her hand and patted it with hisown big one. 

"Didn't he tell you in the letter why?" he asked. 

"Yes--yes, but--"

"Then let me tell you what he told me, Maud. He and I talked forup'ards of three solid hours last night and I cal'late I understoodhim pretty well when he finished. Now let me tell you what he saidto me. "

He told her the substance of his long interview with Phillips. Hetold also of Charles' coming to Orham, of why and how he took theposition in the bank, of his other talks with him--Winslow. 

"And so, " said Jed, in conclusion, "you see, Maud, what a dreadfulload the poor young feller's been carryin' ever since he came andespecially since he--well, since he found out how much he wascarin' for you. Just stop for a minute and think what a load'twas. His conscience was troublin' him all the time for keepin'the bank job, for sailin' under false colors in your eyes and yourdad's. He was workin' and pinchin' to pay the two thousand to theman in Middleford. He had hangin' over him every minute thepractical certainty that some day--some day sure--a person wascomin' along who knew his story and then the fat would all be inthe fire. And when it went into that fire he wouldn't be the onlyone to be burnt; there would be his sister and Babbie--and you;most of all, you. "

She nodded. "Yes, yes, I know, " she cried. "But why--oh, whydidn't he come to me and tell me? Why did he go without a word?He must have known I would forgive him, no matter what he had done. It wouldn't have made any difference, his having been in--inprison. And now--now he may be--oh, Jed, he may be killed!"

She was sobbing again. Jed patted her hand. "We won't talk abouthis bein' killed, " he said stoutly. "I know he won't be; I feel itin my bones. But, Maud, can't you see why he didn't come and tellyou before he went to enlist? Suppose he had. If you care for himso much--as much as I judge you do--"

She interrupted. "Care for him!" she repeated. "Oh, Jed!"

"Yes, yes, dearie, I know. Well, then, carin' for him like that, you'd have told him just what you told me then; that about hishavin' done what he did and havin' been where he's been not makin'any difference. And you'd have begged and coaxed him to stay rightalong in the bank, maybe? Eh?"

"Yes, " defiantly. Of course I would. Why not?"

"And your father, would you have told him?"

She hesitated. "I don't know, " she said, but with less assurance. "Perhaps so, later on. It had all been kept a secret so far, allthe whole dreadful thing, why not a little longer? Besides--besides, Father knows how much Charlie means to me. Father and Ihad a long talk about him one night and I--I think he knows. Andhe is very fond of Charlie himself; he has said so so many times. He would have forgiven him, too, if I had asked him. He alwaysdoes what I ask. "

"Yes, ye-es, I cal'late that's so. But, to be real honest now, Maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that way? Would youhave felt that it was the honorable thing for Charlie to do? Isn'twhat he has done better? He's undertakin' the biggest and finestjob a man can do in this world to-day, as I see it. It's the jobhe'd have taken on months ago if he'd felt 'twas right to leaveRuth--Mrs. Armstrong--so soon after--after bein' separated from herso long. He's taken on this big job, this man's job, and he saysto you: 'Here I am. You know me now. Do you care for me still?If you do will you wait till I come back?' And to your dad, toSam, he says: 'I ain't workin' for you now. I ain't on yourpayroll and so I can speak out free and independent. If yourdaughter'll have me I mean to marry her some day. ' Ain't that thebetter way, Maud? Ain't that how you'd rather have him feel--anddo?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I--I suppose so, " she admitted. "Oh, I suppose that you and he are right. In his letter he saysjust that. Would you like to see it; that part of it, I mean?"

Jed took the crumpled and tear-stained letter from her hand. 

"I think I ought to tell you, Maud, " he said, "that writin' thiswas his own idea. It was me that suggested his enlistin', althoughI found he'd been thinkin' of it all along, but I was for havin'him go and enlist and then come back and tell you and Sam. But hesays, 'No. I'll tell her in a letter and then when I come backshe'll have had time to think it over. She won't say 'yes' thensimply because she pities me or because she doesn't realize what itmeans. No, I'll write her and then when I come back after enlistin'and go to her for my answer, I'll know it's given deliberate. '"

She nodded. "He says that there, " she said chokingly. "But he--hemust have known. Oh, Jed, how CAN I let him go--to war?"

That portion of the letter which Jed was permitted to read wasstraightforward and honest and manly. There were no appeals forpity or sympathy. The writer stated his case and left the rest toher, that was all. And Jed, reading between the lines, respectedCharles Phillips more than ever. 

He and Maud talked for a long time after that. And, at last, theyreached a point which Jed had tried his best to avoid. Maudmentioned it first. She had been speaking of his friendship forher lover and for herself. 

"I don't see what we should have done without your help, Jed, " shesaid. "And when I think what you have done for Charlie! Why, yes--and now I know why you pretended to have found the four hundreddollars Father thought he had lost. Pa left it at Wapatomac, afterall; you knew that?"

Jed stirred uneasily. He was standing by the window, looking outinto the yard. 

"Yes, yes, " he said hastily, "I know. Don't talk about it, Maud. It makes me feel more like a fool than usual and . . . Er . . . Don't seem as if that was hardly necessary, does it?"

"But I shall talk about it. When Father came home that night hecouldn't talk of anything else. He called it the prize puzzle ofthe century. You had given him four hundred dollars of your ownmoney and pretended it was his and that you had--had stolen it, Jed. He burst out laughing when he told me that and so did I. Theidea of your stealing anything! You!"

Jed smiled, feebly. 

"'Twas silly enough, I give in, " he admitted. "You see, " he added, in an apologetic drawl, "nine-tenths of this town think I'm a prizeidiot and sometimes I feel it's my duty to live up--or down--to myreputation. This was one of the times, that's all. I'm awful gladSam got his own money back, though. "

"The money didn't amount to anything. But what you did was thewonderful thing. For now I understand why you did it. Youthought--you thought Charlie had taken it to--to pay that horridman in Middleford. That is what you thought and you--"

Jed broke in. "Don't! Don't put me in mind of it, Maud, " hebegged. "I'm so ashamed I don't know what to do. You see--yousee, Charlie had said how much he needed about that much money and--and so, bein' a--a woodenhead, I naturally--"

"Oh, don't! Please don't! It was wonderful of you, Jed. You notonly gave up your own money, but you were willing to sacrifice yourgood name; to have Father, your best friend, think you a thief. And you did it all to save Charlie from exposure. How could you, Jed?"

Jed didn't answer. He did not appear to have heard her. He wasgazing steadily out into the yard. 

"How could you, Jed?" repeated Maud. "It was wonderful! I can'tunderstand. I--"

She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. She was standingbeside the little writing-table and the drawer was open. Shelooked down and there, in that drawer, she saw the framedphotograph of Ruth Armstrong. She remembered that Jed had beensitting at that desk and gazing down into that drawer when sheentered the room. She looked at him now. He was standing by thewindow peering out into the yard. Ruth had come from the back doorof the little Winslow house and was standing on the step looking upthe road, evidently waiting for Barbara to come from school. AndJed was watching her. Maud saw the look upon his face--and sheunderstood. 

A few moments later she and Ruth met. Maud had tried to avoid thatmeeting by leaving Jed's premises by the front door, the door ofthe outer shop. But Ruth had walked to the gate to see if Babbiewas coming and, as Maud emerged from the shop, the two women cameface to face. For an instant they did not speak. Maud, excitedand overwrought by her experience with the letter and her interviewwith Jed, was still struggling for self-control, and Ruth, knowingthat the other must by this time have received that letter andlearned her brother's secret, was inclined to be coldly defiant. She was the first to break the silence. She said "Good afternoon"and passed on. But Maud, after another instant of hesitation, turned back. 

"Oh, Mrs. Armstrong, " she faltered, "may I speak with you just--just for a few minutes?"

And now Ruth hesitated. What was it the girl wished to speakabout? If it was to reproach her or her brother, or to demandfurther explanations or apologies, the interview had far better nottake place. She was in no mood to listen to reproaches. Charleswas, in her eyes, a martyr and a hero and now, largely because ofthis girl, he was going away to certain danger, perhaps to death. She had tried, for his sake, not to blame Maud Hunniwell becauseCharles had fallen in love with her, but she was not, just then, inclined toward extreme forbearance. So she hesitated, and Maudspoke again. 

"May I speak with you for just a few minutes?" she pleaded. "Ihave just got his letter and--oh, may I?"

Ruth silently led the way to the door of the little house. 

"Come in, " she said. 

Together they entered the sitting-room. Ruth asked her caller tobe seated, but Maud paid no attention. 

"I have just got his letter, " she faltered. "I--I wanted you toknow--to know that it doesn't make any difference. I--I don'tcare. If he loves me, and--and he says he does--I don't care foranything else. . . . Oh, ' PLEASE be nice to me, " she begged, holding out her hands. "You are his sister and--and I love him so!And he is going away from both of us. "

So Ruth's coldness melted like a fall of snow in early April, andthe April showers followed it. She and Maud wept in each other'sarms and were femininely happy accordingly. And for at least ahalf hour thereafter they discussed the surpassing excellencies ofCharlie Phillips, the certainty that Captain Hunniwell wouldforgive him because he could not help it and a variety of kindredand satisfying subjects. And at last Jed Winslow drifted into theconversation. 

"And so you have been talking it over with Jed, " observed Ruth. "Isn't it odd how we all go to him when we are in trouble or needadvice or anything? I always do and Charlie did, and you say thatyou do, too. "

Maud nodded. "He and I have been what Pa calls 'chummies' eversince I can remember, " she said simply. 

"I don't know why I feel that I can confide in him to such anextent. Somehow I always have. And, do you know, his advice isalmost always good? If I had taken it from the first we might, allof us, have avoided a deal of trouble. I have cause to think ofJed Winslow as something sure and safe and trustworthy. Like anice, kindly old watch dog, you know. A queer one and a funny one, but awfully nice. Babbie idolizes him. "

Maud nodded again. She was regarding her companion with an oddexpression. 

"And when I think, " continued Ruth, "of how he was willing tosacrifice his character and his honor and even to risk losing yourfather's friendship--how he proclaimed himself a thief to saveCharlie! When I think of that I scarcely know whether to laugh orcry. I want to do both, of course. It was perfectlycharacteristic and perfectly adorable--and so absolutely absurd. Ilove him for it, and as yet I haven't dared thank him for fear Ishall cry again, as I did when Captain Hunniwell told us. Yet, when I think of his declaring he took the money to buy a suit ofclothes, I feel like laughing. Oh, he IS a dear, isn't he?"

Now, ordinarily, Maud would have found nothing in this speech toarouse resentment. There was the very slight, and in this casequite unintentional, note of patronage in it that every one usedwhen referring to Jed Winslow. She herself almost invariably usedthat note when speaking of him or even to him. But now heremotions were so deeply stirred and the memories of her recentinterview with Jed, of his understanding and his sympathy, were sovivid. And, too, she had just had that glimpse into his mostsecret soul. So her tone, as she replied to Ruth's speech, wasalmost sharp. 

"He didn't do it for Charlie, " she declared. "That is, of coursehe did, but that wasn't the real reason. "

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Don't you know what I mean? Don't you really know?"

"Why, of course I don't. What ARE you talking about? Didn't do itfor Charlie? Didn't say that he was a thief and give your fatherhis own money, do you mean? Do you mean he didn't do that forCharlie?"

"Yes. He did it for you. "

"For me? For ME?"

"Yes. . . . Oh, can't you understand? It's absurd and foolish andsilly and everything, but I know it's true. Jed Winslow is in lovewith you, Mrs. Armstrong. "

Ruth leaned back in her chair and stared at her as if she thoughther insane. 

"In love with ME?" she repeated. "Jed Winslow! Maud, don't!"

"It's true, I tell you. I didn't know until just now, although ifit had been any one but Jed I should have suspected for some time. But to-day when I went in there I saw him sitting before his desklooking down into an open drawer there. He has your photograph inthat drawer. And, later on, when you came out into the yard, I sawhim watching you; I saw his face and that was enough. . . . Oh, don't you SEE?" impatiently. "It explains everything. Youcouldn't understand, nor could I, why he should sacrifice himselfso for Charlie. But because Charlie was your brother--that isanother thing. Think, just think! You and I would have guessed itbefore if he had been any one else except just Jed. Yes, he is inlove with you. . . . It's crazy and it's ridiculous and--and allthat, of course it is. But, " with a sudden burst of temper, "ifyou--if you dare to laugh I'll never speak to you again. "

But Ruth was not laughing. 

It was a cloudy day and Jed's living-room was almost dark when Ruthentered it. Jed, who had been sitting by the desk, rose when shecame in. 

"Land sakes, Ruth, " he exclaimed, "it's you, ain't it? Let melight a lamp. I was settin' here in the dark like a . . . Like ahen gone to roost. . . . Eh? Why, it's 'most supper 'time, ain'tit? Didn't realize 'twas so late. I'll have a light for you in ajiffy. "

He was on his way to the kitchen, but she stopped him. 

"No, " she said quickly. "Don't get a light. I'd rather not, please. And sit down again, Jed; just as you were. There, by thedesk; that's it. You see, " she added, "I--I--well, I havesomething to tell you, and--and I can tell it better in the dark, Ithink. "

Jed looked at her in surprise. He could not see her face plainly, but she seemed oddly confused and embarrassed. 

"Sho!" he drawled. "Well, I'm sure I ain't anxious about thelight, myself. You know, I've always had a feelin' that the darkwas more becomin' to my style of beauty. Take me about twelveo'clock in a foggy night, in a cellar, with the lamp out, and Ilook pretty nigh handsome--to a blind man. . . . Um-hm. "

She made no comment on this confession. Jed, after waiting aninstant for her to speak, ventured a reminder. 

"Don't mind my talkin' foolishness, " he said, apologetically. "I'mfeelin' a little more like myself than I have for--for a week orso, and when I feel that way I'm bound to be foolish. Just gettin'back to nature, as the magazine folks tell about, I cal'late 'tis. "

She leaned forward and laid a hand on his sleeve. 

"Don't!" she begged. "Don't talk about yourself in that way, Jed. When I think what a friend you have been to me and mine I--I can'tbear to hear you say such things. I have never thanked you forwhat you did to save my brother when you thought he had gone wrongagain. I can't thank you now--I can't. "

Her voice broke. Jed twisted in his seat. 

"Now--now, Ruth, " he pleaded, "do let's forget that. I've made afool of myself a good many times in my life--more gettin' back tonature, you see--but I hope I never made myself out quite such ablitherin' numbskull as I did that time. Don't talk about it, don't. I ain't exactly what you'd call proud of it. "

"But I am. And so is Charlie. But I won't talk of it if youprefer I shouldn't. . . . Jed--" she hesitated, faltered, and thenbegan again: "Jed, " she said, "I told you when I came in that I hadsomething to tell you. I have. I have told no one else, not evenCharlie, because he went away before I was--quite sure. But now Iam going to tell you because ever since I came here you have beenmy father confessor, so to speak. You realize that, don't you?"

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he observed, with great deliberation, "I don't know'sI'd go as far as to say that. Babbie and I've agreed that I'm herback-step-uncle, but that's as nigh relation as I've ever dastfigure I was to the family. "

"Don't joke about it. You know what I mean. Well, Jed, this iswhat I am going to tell you. It is very personal and veryconfidential and you must promise not to tell any one yet. Willyou?"

"Eh? Why, sartin, of course. "

"Yes. I hope you may be glad to hear it. It would make you gladto know that I was happy, wouldn't it?"

For the first time Jed did not answer in the instant. The shadowswere deep in the little living-room now, but Ruth felt that he wasleaning forward and looking at her. 

"Yes, " he said, after a moment. "Yes . . . But--I don't know as Iknow exactly what you mean, do I?"

"You don't--yet. But I hope you will be glad when you do. Jed, you like Major Grover, don't you?"

Jed did not move perceptibly, but she heard his chair creak. Hewas still leaning forward and she knew his gaze was fixed upon herface. 

"Yes, " he said very slowly. "I like him first-rate. "

"I'm glad. Because--well, because I have come to like him so much. Jed, he--he has asked me to be his wife. "

There was absolute stillness in the little room. Then, after whatseemed to her several long minutes, he spoke. 

"Yes . . . Yes, I see . . . " he said. "And you? You've . . . "

"At first I could not answer him. My brother's secret was in theway and I could not tell him that. But last night--or thismorning--Charlie and I discussed all our affairs and he gave mepermission to tell--Leonard. So when he came to-day I told him. He said it made no difference. And--and I am going to marry him, Jed. "

Jed's chair creaked again, but that was the only sound. Ruthwaited until she felt that she could wait no longer. Then shestretched out a hand toward him in the dark. 

"Oh, Jed, " she cried, "aren't you going to say anything to me--anything at all?"

She heard him draw a long breath. Then he spoke. 

"Why--why, yes, of course, " he said. "I--I--of course I am. I--you kind of got me by surprise, that's all. . . . I hadn't--hadn'texpected it, you see. "

"I know. Even Charlie was surprised. But you're glad, for mysake, aren't you, Jed?"

"Eh? . . . Yes, oh, yes! I'm--I'm glad. "

"I hope you are. If it were not for poor Charlie's going away andthe anxiety about him and his problem I should be very happy--happier than I believed I ever could be again. You're glad ofthat, aren't you, Jed?"

"Eh? . . . Yes, yes, of course. . . . "

"And you will congratulate me? You like Major Grover? Please sayyou do. "

Jed rose slowly from his chair. He passed a hand in dazed fashionacross his forehead. 

"Yes, " he said, again. "The major's a fine man. . . . I docongratulate you, ma'am. "

"Oh, Jed! Not that way. As if you meant it. "

"Eh? . . . I--I do mean it. . . . I hope--I hope you'll be realhappy, both of you, ma'am. "

"Oh, not that--Ruth. "

"Yes--yes, sartin, of course . . . Ruth, I mean. "

She left him standing by the writing table. After she had gone hesank slowly down into the chair again. Eight o'clock struck and hewas still sitting there. . . . And Fate chose that time to sendCaptain Sam Hunniwell striding up the walk and storming furiouslyat the back door. 

"Jed!" roared the captain. "Jed Winslow! Jed!"

Jed lifted his head from his hands. He most decidedly did not wishto see Captain Sam or any one else. 

"Jed!" roared the captain again. 

Jed accepted the inevitable. "Here I am, " he groaned, miserably. 

The captain did not wait for an invitation to enter. Havingascertained that the owner of the building was within, he pulledthe door open and stamped into the kitchen. 

"Where are you?" he demanded. 

"Here, " replied Jed, without moving. 

"Here? Where's here? . . . Oh, you're in there, are you? Hidin'there in the dark, eh? Afraid to show me your face, I shouldn'twonder. By the gracious king, I should think you would be! Whathave you got to say to me, eh?"

Apparently Jed had nothing to say. Captain Sam did not wait. 

"And you've called yourself my friend!" he sneered savagely. "Friend--you're a healthy friend, Jed Winslow! What have you gotto say to me . . . Eh?"

Jed sighed. "Maybe I'd be better able to say it if I knew what youwas talkin' about, Sam, " he observed, drearily. 

"Know! I guess likely you know all right. And according to heryou've known all along. What do you mean by lettin' me take that--that state's prison bird into my bank? And lettin' him associatewith my daughter and--and . . . Oh, by gracious king! When I thinkthat you knew what he was all along, I--I--"

His anger choked off the rest of the sentence. Jed rubbed his eyesand sat up in his chair. For the first time since the captain'sentrance he realized a little of what the latter said. Before thathe had been conscious only of his own dull, aching, hopeless misery. 

"Hum. . . . So you've found out, Sam, have you?" he mused. 

"Found out! You bet I've found out! I only wish to the Lord I'dfound out months ago, that's all. "

"Hum. . . . Charlie didn't tell you? . . . No-o, no, he couldn'thave got back so soon. "

"Back be hanged! I don't know whether he's back or not, blast him. But I ain't a fool ALL the time, Jed Winslow, not all the time Iain't. And when I came home tonight and found Maud cryin' toherself and no reason for it, so far as I could see, I set out tolearn that reason. And I did learn it. She told me the wholeyarn, the whole of it. And I saw the scamp's letter. And Idragged out of her that you--you had known all the time what hewas, and had never told me a word. . . . Oh, how could you, Jed!How could you!"

Jed's voice was a trifle less listless as he answered. 

"It was told me in confidence, Sam, " he said. "I COULDN'T tellyou. And, as time went along and I began to see what a fine boyCharlie really was, I felt sure 'twould all come out right in theend. And it has, as I see it. "

"WHAT?"

"Yes, it's come out all right. Charlie's gone to fight, same asevery decent young feller wants to do. He thinks the world of Maudand she does of him, but he was honorable enough not to ask herwhile he worked for you, Sam. He wrote the letter after he'd goneso as to make it easier for her to say no, if she felt like sayin'it. And when he came back from enlistin' he was goin' straight toyou to make a clean breast of everything. He's a good boy, Sam. He's had hard luck and he's been in trouble, but he's all right andI know it. And you know it, too, Sam Hunniwell. Down inside youyou know it, too. Why, you've told me a hundred times what a finechap Charlie Phillips was and how much you thought of him, and--"

Captain Hunniwell interrupted. "Shut up!" he commanded. "Don'ttalk to me that way! Don't you dare to! I did think a lot of him, but that was before I knew what he'd done and where he'd been. Doyou cal'late I'll let my daughter marry a man that's been instate's prison?"

"But, Sam, it wan't all his fault, really. And he'll go straightfrom this on. I know he will. "

"Shut up! He can go to the devil from this on, but he shan't takeher with him. . . . Why, Jed, you know what Maud is to me. She'sall I've got. She's all I've contrived for and worked for in thisworld. Think of all the plans I've made for her!"

"I know, Sam, I know; but pretty often our plans don't work outjust as we make 'em. Sometimes we have to change 'em--or give 'emup. And you want Maud to be happy. "

"Happy! I want to be happy myself, don't I? Do you think I'mgoin' to give up all my plans and all my happiness just--justbecause she wants to make a fool of herself? Give 'em up! It'seasy for you to say 'give up. ' What do you know about it?"

It was the last straw. Jed sprang to his feet so suddenly that hischair fell to the floor. 

"Know about it!" he burst forth, with such fierce indignation thatthe captain actually gasped in astonishment. "Know about it!"repeated Jed. "What do I know about givin' up my own plans and--and hopes, do you mean? Oh, my Lord above! Ain't I been givin''em up and givin' 'em up all my lifelong? When I was a boy didn'tI give up the education that might have made me a--a MAN insteadof--of a town laughin' stock? While Mother lived was I doin' muchbut give up myself for her? I ain't sayin' 'twas any more'n rightthat I should, but I did it, didn't I? And ever since it's beenthe same way. I tell you, I've come to believe that life for memeans one 'give up' after the other and won't mean anything butthat till I die. And you--you ask me what I know about it! YOUdo!"

Captain Sam was so taken aback that he was almost speechless. Inall his long acquaintance with Jed Winslow he had never seen himlike this. 

"Why--why, Jed!" he stammered. But Jed was not listening. Hestrode across the room and seized his visitor by the arm. 

"You go home, Sam Hunniwell, " he ordered. "Go home and think--THINK, I tell you. All your life you've had just what I haven't. You married the girl you wanted and you and she were happytogether. You've been looked up to and respected here in Orham;folks never laughed at you or called you 'town crank. ' You've gota daughter and she's a good girl. And the man she wants to marryis a good man, and, if you'll give him a chance and he livesthrough the war he's goin' into, he'll make you proud of him. Yougo home, Sam Hunniwell! Go home, and thank God you're what you areand AS you are. . . . No, I won't talk! I don't want to talk! . . . Go HOME. "

He had been dragging his friend to the door. Now he actuallypushed him across the threshold and slammed the door between them. 

"Well, for . . . The Lord . . . Sakes!" exclaimed Captain Hunniwell. 

The scraping of the key in the lock was his only answer. 

CHAPTER XXI

A child spends time and thought and energy upon the building of ahouse of blocks. By the time it is nearing completion it hasbecome to him a very real edifice. Therefore, when it collapsesinto an ungraceful heap upon the floor it is poor consolation to bereminded that, after all, it was merely a block house and couldn'tbe expected to stand. 

Jed, in his own child-like fashion, had reared his moonshine castlebeam by beam. At first he had regarded it as moonshine and hadrefused to consider the building of it anything but a dangerouslypleasant pastime. And then, little by little, as his dreamschanged to hopes, it had become more and more real, until, justbefore the end, it was the foundation upon which his future was torest. And down it came, and there was his future buried in theruins. 

And it had been all moonshine from the very first. Jed, sittingthere alone in his little living-room, could see now that it hadbeen nothing but that. Ruth Armstrong, young, charming, cultured--could she have thought of linking her life with that of JedidahEdgar Wilfred Winslow, forty-five, "town crank" and builder ofwindmills? Of course not--and again of course not. Obviously shenever had thought of such a thing. She had been grateful, that wasall; perhaps she had pitied him just a little and behind herexpressions of kindliness and friendship was pity and little else. Moonshine--moonshine--moonshine. And, oh, what a fool he had been!What a poor, silly fool!

So the night passed and morning came and with it a certain degreeof bitterly philosophic acceptance of the situation. He WAS afool; so much was sure. He was of no use in the world, he neverhad been. People laughed at him and he deserved to be laughed at. He rose from the bed upon which he had thrown himself some timeduring the early morning hours and, after eating a cold mouthful ortwo in lieu of breakfast, sat down at his turning lathe. He couldmake children's whirligigs, that was the measure of his capacity. 

All the forenoon the lathe hummed. Several times steps sounded onthe front walk and the latch of the shop door rattled, but Jed didnot rise from his seat. He had not unlocked that door, he did notmean to for the present. He did not want to wait on customers; hedid not want to see callers; he did not want to talk or be talkedto. He did not want to think, either, but that he could not help. 

And he could not shut out all the callers. One, who came a littleafter noon, refused to remain shut out. She pounded the door andshouted "Uncle Jed" for some few minutes; then, just as Jed hadbegun to think she had given up and gone away, he heard a thumpingupon the window pane and, looking up, saw her laughing and noddingoutside. 

"I see you, Uncle Jed, " she called. "Let me in, please. "

So Jed was obliged to let her in and she entered with a skip and ajump, quite unconscious that her "back-step-uncle" was in any waydifferent, either in feelings or desire for her society, than hehad been for months. 

"Why did you have the door locked, Uncle Jed?" she demanded. "Didyou forget to unlock it?"

Jed, without looking at her, muttered something to the effect thathe cal'lated he must have. 

"Um-hm, " she observed, with a nod of comprehension. "I thoughtthat was it. You did it once before, you know. It was a ex-eccen-trick, leaving it locked was, I guess. Don't you think it was a--a--one of those kind of tricks, Uncle Jed?"

Silence, except for the hum and rasp of the lathe. 

"Don't you, Uncle Jed?" repeated Barbara. 

"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I presume likely so. "

Babbie, sitting on the lumber pile, kicked her small heels togetherand regarded him with speculative interest. 

"Uncle Jed, " she said, after a few moments of silent consideration, "what do you suppose Petunia told me just now?"

No answer. 

"What do you suppose Petunia told me?" repeated Babbie. "Somethingabout you 'twas, Uncle Jed. "

Still Jed did not reply. His silence was not deliberate; he hadbeen so absorbed in his own pessimistic musings that he had notheard the question, that was all. Barbara tried again. 

"She told me she guessed you had been thinking AWF'LY hard aboutsomething this time, else you wouldn't have so many eccen-tricksto-day. "

Silence yet. Babbie swallowed hard:

"I--I don't think I like eccen-tricks, Uncle Jed, " she faltered. 

Not a word. Then Jed, stooping to pick up a piece of wood from thepile of cut stock beside the lathe, was conscious of a littlesniff. He looked up. His small visitor's lip was quivering andtwo big tears were just ready to overflow her lower lashes. 

"Eh? . . . Mercy sakes alive!" he exclaimed. "Why, what's thematter?"

The lip quivered still more. "I--I don't like to have you notspeak to me, " sobbed Babbie. "You--you never did it so--so longbefore. "

That appeal was sufficient. Away, for the time, went Jed'spessimism and his hopeless musings. He forgot that he was a fool, the "town crank, " and of no use in the world. He forgot his ownheartbreak, chagrin and disappointment. A moment later Babbie wason his knee, hiding her emotion in the front of his jacket, and hewas trying his best to soothe her with characteristic Winslownonsense. 

"You mustn't mind me, Babbie, " he declared. "My--my head ain'tworkin' just right to-day, seems so. I shouldn't wonder if--if Iwound it too tight, or somethin' like that. "

Babbie's tear-stained face emerged from the jacket front. 

"Wound your HEAD too tight, Uncle Jed?" she cried. 

"Ye-es, yes. I was kind of extra absent-minded yesterday and Ithought I wound the clock, but I couldn't have done that 'cause theclock's stopped. Yet I know I wound somethin' and it's just asliable to have been my head as anything else. You listen just backof my starboard ear there and see if I'm tickin' reg'lar. "

The balance of the conversation between the two was of a distinctlypersonal nature. 

"You see, Uncle Jed, " said Barbara, as she jumped from his kneepreparatory to running off to school, "I don't like you to doeccen-tricks and not talk to me. I don't like it at all andneither does Petunia. You won't do any more--not for so long at atime, will you, Uncle Jed?"

Jed sighed. "I'll try not to, " he said, soberly. 

She nodded. "Of course, " she observed, "we shan't mind you doing afew, because you can't help that. But you mustn't sit still andnot pay attention when we talk for ever and ever so long. I--Idon't know precactly what I and Petunia would do if you wouldn'ttalk to us, Uncle Jed. "

"Don't, eh? Humph! I presume likely you'd get along pretty well. I ain't much account. "

Barbara looked at him in horrified surprise. 

"Oh, Uncle Jed!" she cried, "you mustn't talk so! You MUSTN'T!Why--why, you're the bestest man there is. And there isn't anybodyin Orham can make windmills the way you can. I asked Teacher ifthere was and she said no. So there! And you're a GREATcons'lation to all our family, " she added, solemnly. "We justcouldn't ever--EVER do without you. "

When the child went Jed did not take the trouble to lock the doorafter her; consequently his next callers entered without difficultyand came directly to the inner shop. Jed, once more absorbed ingloomy musings--not quite as gloomy, perhaps; somehow the cloudshad not descended quite so heavily upon his soul since Babbie'svisit--looked up to see there standing behind him Maud Hunniwelland Charlie Phillips. 

He sprang to his feet. "Eh?" he cried, delightedly. "Well, well, so you're back, Charlie, safe and sound. Well, well!"

Phillips grasped the hand which Jed had extended and shook itheartily. 

"Yes, I'm back, " he said. 

"Um-hm. . . . And--er--how did you leave Uncle Sam? Old feller'spretty busy these days, 'cordin' to the papers. "

"Yes, I imagine he is. "

"Um-hm. . . . Well, did you--er--make him happy? Give his armythe one thing needful to make it--er--perfect?"

Charlie laughed. "If you mean did I add myself to it, " he said, "Idid. I am an enlisted man now, Jed. As soon as Von Hindenburghears that, he'll commit suicide, I'm sure. "

Jed insisted on shaking hands with him again. "You're a luckyfeller, Charlie, " he declared. "I only wish I had your chance. Yes, you're lucky--in a good many ways, " with a glance at Maud. "And, speaking of Uncle Sam, " he added, "reminds me of--well, ofDaddy Sam. How's he behavin' this mornin'? I judge from the factthat you two are together he's a little more rational than he waslast night. . . . Eh?"

Phillips looked puzzled, but Maud evidently understood. "Daddy hasbeen very nice to-day, " she said, demurely. "Charlie had a longtalk with him and--and--"

"And he was mighty fine, " declared Phillips with emphasis. "We hada heart to heart talk and I held nothing back. I tell you, Jed, itdid me good to speak the truth, whole and nothing but. I toldCaptain Hunniwell that I didn't deserve his daughter. He agreedwith me there, of course. "

"Nonsense!" interrupted Maud, with a happy laugh. 

"Not a bit of nonsense. We agreed that no one was good enough foryou. But I told him I wanted that daughter very much indeed and, provided she was agreeable and was willing to wait until the warwas over and I came back; taking it for granted, of course, that I--"

He hesitated, bit his lip and looked apprehensively at MissHunniwell. Jed obligingly helped him over the thin ice. 

"Provided you come back a major general or--or a commodore or acorporal's guard or somethin', " he observed. 

"Yes, " gratefully, "that's it. I'm sure to be a high private atleast. Well, to cut it short, Jed, I told Captain Hunniwell all mypast and my hopes and plans for the future. He was forgiving andforbearing and kinder than I had any right to expect. Weunderstand each other now and he is willing, always provided thatMaud is willing, too, to give me my opportunity to make good. Thatis all any one could ask. "

"Yes, I should say 'twas. . . . But Maud, how about her? You hadconsider'ble of a job makin' her see that you was worth waitin'for, I presume likely, eh?"

Maud laughed and blushed and bade him behave himself. Jed demandedto be told more particulars concerning the enlisting. So Charlestold the story of his Boston trip, while Maud looked and listenedadoringly, and Jed, watching the young people's happiness, was, forthe time, almost happy himself. 

When they rose to go Charlie laid a hand on Jed's shoulder. 

"I can't tell you, " he said, "what a brick you've been through allthis. If it hadn't been for you, old man, I don't know how itmight have ended. We owe you about everything, Maud and I. You'vebeen a wonder, Jed. "

Jed waved a deprecating hand. "Don't talk so, Charlie, " he said, gruffly. 

"But, I tell you, I--"

"Don't. . . . You see, " with a twist of the lip, "it don't do totell a--a screech owl he's a canary. He's liable to believe it byand by and start singin' in public. . . . Then he finds out he'sjust a fool owl, and has been all along. Humph! Me a wonder! . . . A blunder, you mean. "

Neither of the young people had ever heard him use that tone before. They both cried out in protest. 

"Look here, Jed--" began Phillips. 

Maud interrupted. "Just a moment, Charlie, " she said. "Let metell him what Father said last night. When he went out he left mecrying and so miserable that I wanted to die. He had foundCharlie's letter and we--we had had a dreadful scene and he hadspoken to me as I had never heard him speak before. And, later, after he came back I was almost afraid to have him come into theroom where I was. But he was just as different as could be. Hetold me he had been thinking the matter over and had decided that, perhaps, he had been unreasonable and silly and cross. Then hesaid some nice things about Charlie, quite different from what hesaid at first. And when we had made it all up and I asked him whathad changed his mind so he told me it was you, Jed. He said hecame to you and you put a flea in his ear. He wouldn't tell mewhat he meant, but he simply smiled and said you had put a flea inhis ear. "

Jed, himself, could not help smiling faintly. 

"W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "I didn't use any sweet ile on the job, that's sartin. If he said I pounded it in with a club 'twouldn'thave been much exaggeration. "

"So we owe you that, too, " continued Maud. "And, afterwards, whenDaddy and I were talking we agreed that you were probably the bestman in Orham. There!"

And she stooped impulsively and kissed him. 

Jed, very much embarrassed, shook his head. "That--er--insect Iput in your pa's ear must have touched both your brains, Ical'late, " he drawled. But he was pleased, nevertheless. If hewas a fool it was something to have people think him a good sort offool. 

It was almost four o'clock when Jed's next visitor came. He wasthe one man whom he most dreaded to meet just then. Yet he hid hisfeelings and rose with hand outstretched. 

"Why, good afternoon, Major!" he exclaimed. "Real glad to see you. Sit down. "

Grover sat. "Jed, " he said, "Ruth tells me that you know of mygood fortune. Will you congratulate me?"

Jed's reply was calm and deliberate and he did his best to make itsound whole-hearted and sincere. 

"I sartin do, " he declared. "Anybody that wouldn't congratulateyou on that could swap his head for a billiard ball and make moneyon the dicker; the ivory he'd get would be better than the bone hegave away. . . . Yes, Major Grover, you're a lucky man. "

To save his life he could not entirely keep the shake from hisvoice as he said it. If Grover noticed it he put it down to thesincerity of the speaker. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I realize my luck, I assure you. And now, Jed, first of all, let me thank you. Ruth has told me what a loyalfriend and counselor you have been to her and she and I both arevery, very grateful. "

Jed stirred uneasily. "Sho, sho!" he protested. "I haven't doneanything. Don't talk about it, please. I--I'd rather youwouldn't. "

"Very well, since you wish it, I won't. But she and I will alwaysthink of it, you may be sure of that. I dropped in here now justto tell you this and to thank you personally. And I wanted to tellyou, too, that I think we need not fear Babbitt's talking too much. Of course it would not make so much difference now if he did;Charlie will be away and doing what all decent people will respecthim for doing, and you and I can see that Ruth does not suffer. But I think Babbitt will keep still. I hope I have frightened him;I certainly did my best. "

Jed rubbed his chin. 

"I'm kind of sorry for Phin, " he observed. 

"Are you? For heaven's sake, why?"

"Oh, I don't know. When you've been goin' around ever sinceJanuary loaded up to the muzzle with spite and sure-thingvengeance, same as an old-fashioned horse pistol used to be loadedwith powder and ball, it must be kind of hard, just as you're setto pull trigger, to have to quit and swaller the whole charge. Liable to give you dyspepsy, if nothin' worse, I should say. "

Grover smiled. "The last time I saw Babbitt he appeared to benearer apoplexy than dyspepsia, " he said. 

"Ye-es. Well, I'm sorry for him, I really am. It must be prettydreadful to be so cross-grained that you can't like even your ownself without feelin' lonesome. . . . Yes, that's a bad state ofaffairs. . . . I don't know but I'd almost rather be 'town crank'than that. "

The Major's farewell remark, made as he rose to go, contained anelement of mystery. 

"I shall have another matter to talk over with you soon, Jed, " hesaid. "But that will come later, when my plans are more complete. Good afternoon and thank you once more. You've been pretty finethrough all this secret-keeping business, if you don't mind mysaying so. And a mighty true friend. So true, " he added, "that Ishall, in all probability, ask you to assume another trust for mebefore long. I can't think of any one else to whom I could sosafely leave it. Good-by. "

One more visitor came that afternoon. To be exact, he did not comeuntil evening. He opened the outer door very softly and tiptoedinto the living-room. Jed was sitting by the little "gas burner"stove, one knee drawn up and his foot swinging. There was asaucepan perched on top of the stove. A small hand lamp on thetable furnished the only light. He did not hear the person whoentered and when a big hand was laid upon his shoulder he startedviolently. 

"Eh?" he exclaimed, his foot falling with a thump to the floor. "Who? . . . Oh, it's you, ain't it, Sam? . . . Good land, youmade me jump! I must be gettin' nervous, I guess. "

Captain Sam looked at him in some surprise. "Gracious king, Ibelieve you are, " he observed. "I didn't think you had any nerves, Jed. No, nor any temper, either, until last night. You prettynigh blew me out of water then. Ho, ho!"

Jed was much distressed. "Sho, sho, Sam, " he stammered; "I'm awfulsorry about that. I--I wasn't feelin' exactly--er--first rate or Iwouldn't have talked to you that way. I--I--you know I didn't meanit, don't you, Sam?"

The captain pulled forward a chair and sat down. He chuckled. "Well, I must say it did sound as if you meant it, Jed, " hedeclared. "Yes, sir, I cal'late the average person would have beenwillin' to risk a small bet--say a couple of million--that youmeant it. When you ordered me to go home I just tucked my taildown and went. Yes, sir, if you didn't mean it you had ME fooled. Ho, ho!"

Jed's distress was keener than ever. "Mercy sakes alive!" hecried. "Did I tell you to go home, Sam? Yes, yes, I remember Idid. Sho, sho! . . . Well, I'm awful sorry. I hope you'llforgive me. 'Twan't any way for a feller like me to talk--to you. "

Captain Sam's big hand fell upon his friend's knee with a stingingslap. "You're wrong there, Jed, " he declared, with emphasis. "'Twas just the way for you to talk to me. I needed it; and, " withanother chuckle, "I got it, too, didn't I? Ho, ho!"

"Sam, I snum, I--"

"Sshh! You're goin' to say you're sorry again; I can see it inyour eye. Well, don't you do it. You told me to go home andthink, Jed, and those were just the orders I needed. I did go homeand I did think. . . . Humph! Thinkin's a kind of upsettin' jobsometimes, ain't it, especially when you sit right down and thinkabout yourself, what you are compared to what you think you are. Ever think about yourself that way, Jed?"

It was a moment before Jed answered. Then all he said was, "Yes. "

"I mean have you done it lately? Just given yourself right up todoin' it?"

Jed sighed. "Ye-es, " he drawled. "I shouldn't wonder if I had, Sam. "

"Well, probably 'twan't as disturbin' a job with you as 'twas forme. You didn't have as high a horse to climb down off of. Ithought and thought and thought and the more I thought the meanerthe way I'd acted and talked to Maud seemed to me. I likedCharlie; I'd gone around this county for months braggin' about whata smart, able chap he was. As I told you once I'd rather have hadher marry him than anybody else I know. And I had to give in thatthe way he'd behaved--his goin' off and enlistin', settlin' thatbefore he asked her or spoke to me, was a square, manly thing todo. The only thing I had against him was that Middleford mess. And I believe he's a GOOD boy in spite of it. "

"He is, Sam. That Middleford trouble wan't all his fault, by anymeans!"

"I know. He told me this mornin'. Well, then, if he and Maud loveeach other, thinks I, what right have I to say they shan't behappy, especially as they're both willin' to wait? Why should Isay he can't at least have his chance to make good? Nigh's I couldmake out the only reason was my pride and the big plans I'd madefor my girl. I came out of my thinkin' spell with my mind made upthat what ailed me was selfishness and pride. So I talked it overwith her last night and with Charlie to-day. The boy shall havehis chance. Both of 'em shall have their chance, Jed. They'rehappy and--well, I feel consider'ble better myself. All else thereis to do is to just hope to the Lord it turns out right. "

"That's about all, Sam. And I feel pretty sure it's goin' to. "

"Yes, I know you do. Course those big plans of mine that I used tomake--her marryin' some rich chap, governor or senator orsomethin'--they're all gone overboard. I used to wish and wish forher, like a young-one wishin' on a load of hay, or the first starat night, or somethin'. But if we can't have our wishes, why--why--then we'll do without 'em. Eh?"

Jed rubbed his chin. "Sam, " he said, "I've been doin' a littlethinkin' myself. . . . Ye-es, consider'ble thinkin'. . . . Factis, seems now as if I hadn't done anything BUT think since theworld was cranked up and started turnin' over. And I guess there'sonly one answer. When we can't have our wishes then it's up to usto--to--"

"Well, to what?"

"Why, to stick to our jobs and grin, that's about all. 'Tain'tmuch, I know, especially jobs like some of us have, but it'ssomethin'. "

Captain Sam nodded. "It's a good deal, Jed, " he declared. "It'ssome stunt to grin--in these days. "

Jed rose slowly to his feet. He threw back his shoulders with thegesture of one determined to rid himself of a burden. 

"It is--it is so, Sam, " he drawled. "But maybe that makes it alittle more worth while. What do you think?"

His friend regarded him thoughtfully. "Jed, " he said, "I never sawanybody who had the faculty of seein' straight through to thecommon sense inside of things the way you have. Maud and I weretalkin' about that last night. 'Go home and think and thank God, 'you said to me. And that was what I needed to do. 'Enlist andyou'll be independent, ' you said to Charlie and it set him on theroad. 'Stick to your job and grin, ' you say now. How do you doit, Jed? Remember one time I told you I couldn't decide whetheryou was a dum fool or a King Solomon? I know now. Of the two ofus I'm nigher to bein' the dum fool; and, by the gracious king, youARE a King Solomon. "

Jed slowly shook his head. "Sam, " he said, sadly, "if you knewwhat I know about me you'd . . . But there, you're talkin' wild. Iwas cal'latin' to have a cup of tea and you'd better have one, too. I'm heatin' some water on top of the stove now. It must be aboutready. "

He lifted the saucepan from the top of the "gas burner" and testedthe water with his finger. 

"Hum, " he mused, "it's stone cold. I can't see why it hasn't hetfaster. I laid a nice fresh fire, too. "

He opened the stove door and looked in. 

"Hum . . . " he said, again. "Yes, yes . . . I laid it but, I--er--hum . . . I forgot to light it, that's all. Well, that proves I'mKing Solomon for sartin. Probably he did things like that everyday or so. . . . Give me a match, will you, Sam?"

CHAPTER XXII

It had been a chill morning in early spring when Charlie Phillipswent to Boston to enlist. Now it was a balmy evening in August andJed sat upon a bench by his kitchen door looking out to sea. Thebreeze was light, barely sufficient to turn the sails of the littlemills, again so thickly sprinkled about the front yard, or to causethe wooden sailors to swing their paddles. The August moon wasrising gloriously behind the silver bar of the horizon. From thebeach below the bluff came the light laughter of a group of summeryoung folk, strolling from the hotel to the post-office by theshore route. 

Babbie, who had received permission to sit up and see the moonrise, was perched upon the other end of the bench, Petunia in herarms. A distant drone, which had been audible for some time, wasgradually becoming a steady humming roar. A few moments later anda belated hydro-aeroplane passed across the face of the moon, adragon-fly silhouette against the shining disk. 

"That bumble-bee's gettin' home late, " observed Jed. "The rest ofthe hive up there at East Harniss have gone to roost two or threehours ago. Wonder what kept him out this scandalous hour. Hadtire trouble, think?"

Barbara laughed. 

"You're joking again, Uncle Jed, " she said. "That kind ofaeroplane couldn't have any tire trouble, 'cause it hasn't got anytires. "

Mr. Winslow appeared to reflect. "That's so, " he admitted, "but Idon't know as we'd ought to count too much on that. I rememberwhen Gabe Bearse had brain fever. "

This was a little deep for Babbie, whose laugh was somewhatuncertain. She changed the subject. 

"Oh!" she cried, with a wiggle, "there's a caterpillar right hereon this bench with us, Uncle Jed. He's a fuzzy one, too; I can seethe fuzz; the moon makes it shiny. "

Jed bent over to look. "That?" he said. "That little, tiny one?Land sakes, he ain't big enough to be more than a kitten-pillar. You ain't afraid of him, are you?"

"No-o. No, I guess I'm not. But I shouldn't like to have him walkon me. He'd be so--so ticklesome. "

Jed brushed the caterpillar off into the grass. 

"There he goes, " he said. "I've got to live up to my job asguardian, I expect. Last letter I had from your pa he said hecounted on my lookin' out for you and your mamma. If he thought Ilet ticklesome kitten-pillars come walkin' on you he wouldn'tcal'late I amounted to much. "

For this was the "trust" to which Major Grover had referred in hisconversation with Jed. Later he explained his meaning. He wasexpecting soon to be called to active service "over there. " Beforehe went he and Ruth were to be married. 

"My wife and Barbara will stay here in the old house, Jed, " hesaid, "if you are willing. And I shall leave them in your charge. It's a big trust, for they're pretty precious articles, but they'llbe safe with you. "

Jed looked at him aghast. "Good land of love!" he cried. "Youdon't mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. Don't look so frightened, man. It's justwhat you've been doing ever since they came here, that's all. Ruthsays she has been going to you for advice since the beginning. Ijust want her to keep on doing it. "

"But--but, my soul, I--I ain't fit to be anybody's guardian. . . . I--I ought to have somebody guardin' me. Anybody'll tell youthat. . . . Besides, I--I don't think--"

"Yes, you do; and you generally think right. Oh, come, don't talkany more about it. It's a bargain, of course. And if there'sanything I can do for you on the other side, I'll be only too happyto oblige. "

Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-ll, " he drawled, "there's one triflin'thing I've been hankerin' to do myself, but I can't, I'm afraid. Maybe you can do it for me. "

"All right, what is the trifling thing?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, that--er---Crown Prince thing. Do him brown, ifyou get a chance, will you?"

Of course, the guardianship was, in a sense, a joke, but in anotherit was not. Jed knew that Leonard Grover's leaving his wife andBabbie in his charge was, to a certain extent, a serious trust. And he accepted it as such. 

"Has your mamma had any letters from the major the last day or so?"he inquired. 

Babbie shook her head. "No, " she said, "but she's expecting oneevery day. And Petunia and I expect one, too, and we're just asexcited about it as we can be. A letter like that is most par-particklesome exciting. . . . No, I don't mean particklesome--itwas the caterpillar made me think of that. I mean partickle-arexciting. Don't you think it is, Uncle Jed?"

Captain Sam Hunniwell came strolling around the corner of the shop. Jed greeted him warmly and urged him to sit down. The captaindeclined. 

"Can't stop, " he declared. "There's a letter for Maud from Charliein to-night's mail and I want to take it home to her. Letters likethat can't be held up on the way, you know. "

Charlie Phillips, too, was in France with his regiment. 

"I presume likely you've heard the news from Leander Babbitt, Jed?"asked Captain Sam. 

"About his bein' wounded? Yes, Gab flapped in at the shop thisafternoon to caw over it. Said the telegram had just come toPhineas. I was hopin' 'twasn't so, but Eri Hedge said he heard it, too. . . . Serious, is it, Sam?"

"They don't say, but I shouldn't wonder. The boy was hit by ashell splinter while doin' his duty with exceptional bravery, sothe telegram said. 'Twas from Washin'ton, of course. And therewas somethin' in it about his bein' recommended for one of thosewar crosses. "

Jed sat up straight on the bench. "You don't mean it!" he cried. "Well, well, well! Ain't that splendid! I knew he'd do it, too. 'Twas in him. Sam, " he added, solemnly, "did I tell you I got aletter from him last week?"

"From Leander?"

"Yes. . . . And before I got it he must have been wounded. . . . Yes, sir, before I got his letter. . . . 'Twas a good letter, Sam, a mighty good letter. Some time I'll read it to you. Not acomplaint in it, just cheerfulness, you know, and--and grit andconfidence, but no brag. "

"I see. Well, Charlie writes the same way. "

"Ye-es. They all do, pretty much. Well, how about Phineas? Howdoes the old feller take the news? Have you heard?"

"Why, yes, I've heard. Of course I haven't talked with him. He'dno more speak to me than he would to the Evil One. "

Jed's lip twitched. "Why, probably not quite so quick, Sam, " hedrawled. "Phin ought to be on pretty good terms with the OldScratch. I've heard him recommend a good many folks to go to him. "

"Ho, ho! Yes, that's so. Well, Jim Bailey told me that when Phinhad read the telegram he never said a word. Just got up and walkedinto his back shop. But Jerry Burgess said that, later on, at thepost-office somebody said somethin' about how Leander must be amighty good fighter to be recommended for that cross, and Phineaswas openin' his mail box and heard 'em. Jerry says old Phin turnedand snapped out over his shoulder: 'Why not? He's my son, ain'the?' So there you are. Maybe that's pride, or cussedness, orboth. Anyhow, it's Phin Babbitt. "

As the captain was turning to go he asked his friend a question. 

"Jed, " he asked, "what in the world have you taken your front gateoff the hinges for?"

Jed, who had been gazing dreamily out to sea for the past fewminutes, started and came to life. 

"Eh?" he queried. "Did--did you speak, Sam?"

"Yes, but you haven't yet. I asked you what you took your frontgate off the hinges for. "

"Oh, I didn't. I took the hinges off the gate. "

"Well, it amounts to the same thing. The gate's standin' upalongside the fence. What did you do it for?"

Jed sighed. "It squeaked like time, " he drawled, "and I had tostop it. "

"So you took the hinges off? Gracious king! Why didn't you ile'em so they wouldn't squeak?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, I did set out to, but I couldn't find the ile can. The only thing I could find was the screwdriver and at last I cameto the conclusion the Almighty must have meant me to use it; so Idid. Anyhow, it stopped the squeakin'. "

Captain Sam roared delightedly. "That's fine, " he declared. "Itdoes me good to have you act that way. You haven't done anythingso crazy as that for the last six months. I believe the old JedWinslow's come back again. That's fine. "

Jed smiled his slow smile. "I'm stickin' to my job, Sam, " he said. 

"And grinnin'. Don't forget to grin, Jed. "

"W-e-e-ll, when I stick to MY job, Sam, 'most everybody grins. "

Babbie accompanied the captain to the place where the gate hadbeen. Jed, left alone, hummed a hymn. The door of the littlehouse next door opened and Ruth came out into the yard. 

"Where is Babbie?" she asked. 

"She's just gone as far as the sidewalk with Cap'n Sam Hunniwell, "was Jed's reply. "She's all right. Don't worry about her. "

Ruth laughed lightly. "I don't, " she said. "I know she is allright when she is with you, Jed. "

Babbie came dancing back. Somewhere in a distant part of thevillage a dog was howling dismally. 

"What makes that dog bark that way, Uncle Jed?" asked Babbie. 

Jed was watching Ruth, who had walked to the edge of the bluff andwas looking off over the water, her delicate face and slenderfigure silver-edged by the moonlight. 

"Eh? . . . That dog?" he repeated. "Oh, he's barkin' at the moon, I shouldn't wonder. "

"At the moon? Why does he bark at the moon?"

"Oh, he thinks he wants it, I cal'late. Wants it to eat or playwith or somethin'. Dogs get funny notions, sometimes. "

Babbie laughed. "I, think he's awf'ly silly, " she said. "Hecouldn't have the moon, you know, could he? The moon wasn't madefor a dog. "

Jed, still gazing at Ruth, drew a long breath. 

"That's right, " he admitted. 

The child listened to the lugubrious canine wails for a moment;then she said thoughtfully: "I feel kind of sorry for this poordog, though. He sounds as if he wanted the moon just dreadf'ly. "

"Um . . . Yes . . . I presume likely he thinks he does. But he'llfeel better about it by and by. He'll realize that, same as yousay, the moon wasn't made for a dog. Just as soon as he comes tothat conclusion, he'll be a whole lot better dog. . . . Yes, and ahappier one, too, " he added, slowly. 

Barbara did not speak at once and Jed began to whistle a dolefulmelody. Then the former declared, with emphasis: "I think SOMEdogs are awf'ly nice. "

"Um? . . . What? . . . Oh, you do, eh?"

She snuggled close to him on the bench. 

"I think you're awf'ly nice, too, Uncle Jed, " she confided. 

Jed looked down at her over his spectacles. 

"Sho! . . . Bow, wow!" he observed. 

Babbie burst out laughing. Ruth turned and came toward them overthe dew-sprinkled grass. 

"What are you laughing at, dear?" she asked. 

"Oh, Uncle Jed was so funny. He was barking like a dog. "

Ruth smiled. "Perhaps he feels as if he were our watchdog, Babbie, " she said. "He guards us as if he were. "

Babbie hugged her back-step-uncle's coat sleeve. 

"He's a great, big, nice old watchdog, " she declared. "We lovehim, don't we, Mamma?"

Jed turned his head to listen. 

"Hum . . . " he drawled. "That dog up town has stopped his howlin'. Perhaps he's beginnin' to realize what a lucky critter he is. "

As usual, Babbie was ready with a question. 

"Why is he lucky, Uncle Jed?" she asked. 

"Why? Oh, well, he . . . He can LOOK at the moon, and that'senough to make any dog thankful. "