It was nearly noon when Jed, entering the front shop in answer to
the bell, found there the couple the sight of which caused his
heart to sink. Here they were, the house hunters--there was no
doubt of it in his mind. The man was short and broad and
protuberant and pompous. The woman possessed all the last three
qualities, besides being tall. He shone with prosperity and
sunburn, she reeked of riches and talcum. They were just the sort
of people who would insist upon hiring a house that was not in the
market; its not being in the market would, in their eyes, make it
all the more desirable.
Jed had seen them before, knew they were staying at the hotel and
that their names were Powless. He remembered now, with a thrill of
alarm, that Mr. Bearse had recently spoken of them as liking Orham
very much and considering getting a place of their own. And of
course Captain Sam, hearing this, had told them of the Winslow
place, 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 large
between the piles of mills and vanes, like a battleship in a narrow
channel, was loftily inspecting the stock through her lorgnette.
Her husband, his walking stick under his arm and his hands in his
pockets, was not even making the pretense of being interested; he
was staring through the seaward window toward the yard and the old
house.
"These are really quite extraordinary," the lady announced, after a
moment. "George, you really should see these extraordinary
things."
George was, evidently, not interested. He continued to look out of
the window.
"What are they?" he asked, without turning.
"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of queer dolls and boats--and
creatures, 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 at
them."
And George came. One might have inferred that, when his wife spoke
like that, he usually came. He treated a wooden porpoise to a
thoroughly wooden stare and repeated his remark of "Umph!"
"Aren't they extraordinary!" exclaimed his wife. "Does this man
make 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 the
window.
"This view is all right, Mollie," he observed. "Better even than
it 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?" inquired
the 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 husband
trotted after her. The owner of the property, gazing pathetically
through the window, saw them wandering about the premises, looking
off at the view, up into the trees, and finally trying the door of
the old house and peeping in between the slats of the closed
blinds. Then they came strolling back to the shop. Jed, drawing a
long 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 country
with a wave of his cane. Jed nodded.
"That house, too?" waving the point of the cane toward the Winslow
cottage.
"Yes."
"How old is it?"
Jed stammered that he guessed likely it was about a hundred years
old 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 affirmative
the next utterance of the Powless man would be a command to be
shown the interior of the house. Jed was certain of it, he could
see it in the man's eye. What was infinitely more important, he
could 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 to
hunt for fifteen minutes before finding it, so, his conscience
backing his inclination, he replied that he cal'lated it must be.
"Umph!" grunted Powless. "How do you get into the house without a
key?"
Jed rubbed his chin, swallowed hard, and drawled that he didn't
very often.
"You do sometimes, don't you?"
The best answer that the harassed windmill maker could summon was
that he didn't know. The red-faced gentleman stared at him in
indignant amazement.
"You don't KNOW?" he repeated. "Which don't you know, whether you
go 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 her
own.
"George," she commanded majestically, "can't you see the man has
been drinking. Probably he doesn't own the place at all. Don't
waste another moment on him. We will come back later, when the
real owner is in. Come!"
George came and they both went. Mr. Winslow wiped his perspiring
forehead on a piece of wrapping paper and sat down upon a box to
recover. Recovery, however, was by no means rapid or complete.
They had gone, but they were coming back again; and what should he
say to them then? Very likely Captain Sam, who had sent them in
the first place, would return with them. And Captain Sam knew that
the key was not really lost. Jed's satisfaction in the fact that
he had escaped tenantless so far was nullified by the fear that his
freedom was but temporary.
He cooked his dinner, but ate little. After washing the dishes he
crossed the road to the telephone and telegraph office and called
up 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 did
not like them, and beg the captain to call them off the scent. But
Captain Sam had motored to Ostable to attend a preliminary session
of the Exemption Board. Jed sauntered gloomily back to the shop.
When he opened the door and entered he was greeted by a familiar
voice, which said:
"Here he is, Mamma. Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow."
Jed started, turned, and found Miss Barbara Armstrong beaming up at
him. The young lady's attire and general appearance were in marked
contrast to those of the previous evening. Petunia also was in
calling costume; save for the trifling lack of one eye and a chip
from the end of her nose, she would have been an ornament to doll
society 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 gown
and hat and shoes were white, he was at that moment too greatly
embarrassed to notice much concerning her appearance. Probably he
did 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 to
meet you, ma'am."
She smiled. "And I am very glad to meet you," she said. "It was
very kind of you to bring my little girl home last night and she
and 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 upon
her, "but sometimes she is heedless and forgets. Yesterday she
forgot, 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 the
bridge, 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 unplants
the clams she makes the chowder of. He does it with a sort of hoe
thing and puts them in a pail. He was doing it yesterday; I saw
him."
Jed's eyes twinkled at the word "unplants," but another thought
occurred 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 was
kind 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," she
added, 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't
know as there was, but--well, the tide comes in kind of slow off ON
the flats, but it's liable to fill up the channels between them and
the beach some faster. Course if you know the wadin' places it's
all 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 Jed
would have said "make a fuss." She said, simply, "Thank you, I
will remember," and that was the only reference she made to the
subject of the "clam field."
Miss Barbara, to whom the events of dead yesterdays were of no
particular 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 I
was going to buy for Captain Hedge. Come and see it."
Mrs. Armstrong came and was much interested. She asked Jed
questions concerning the "whale fish" and others of his creations.
At first his replies were brief and monosyllabic, but gradually
they became more lengthy, until, without being aware of it, he was
carrying on his share of a real conversation. Of course, he
hesitated and paused and drawled, but he always did that, even when
talking with Captain Sam Hunniwell.
He took down and exhibited his wares one by one. Barbara asked
numberless questions concerning each and chattered like a red
squirrel. Her mother showed such a genuine interest in his work
and was so pleasant and quiet and friendly, was, in short, such a
marked contrast to Mrs. George Powless, that he found himself
actually beginning to enjoy the visit. Usually he was glad when
summer folks finished their looking and buying and went away; but
now, when Mrs. Armstrong glanced at the clock on the shelf, he was
secretly glad that that clock had not gone for over four months and
had providentially stopped going at a quarter after three.
He took them into the inner shop, his workroom, and showed them the
band 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 shop
extension. "Got a sittin'-room and a kitchen out there, and a
little upstairs, where I sleep."
Mrs. Armstrong seemed surprised. "Why!" she exclaimed, "I thought
you lived in that dear little old house next door here. I was told
that you owned it."
Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said, "I do own it, but I don't live
in 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 quaint
and homey, and if the inside is as delightful as the outside it
must be quite wonderful. And the view is the best in town, isn't
it?"
Jed was pleased. "Why, yes, ma'am, 'tis pretty good," he admitted.
"Anyhow, most folks seem to cal'late 'tis. Wouldn't you like to
come 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. That
is," he drawled, "folks say 'tain't, so I never take the risk."
Mrs. Armstrong smiled and followed him out into the yard, where
Miss Barbara had already preceded them. The view over the edge of
the bluff was glorious and the grass in the yard was green, the
flowers bright and pretty and the shadows of the tall lilac bushes
by the back door of the little white house cool and inviting.
Barbara danced along the bluff edge, looking down at the dories and
nets on the beach below. Her mother sighed softly.
"It is lovely!" she said. Then, turning to look at the little
house, she added, "And it was your old home, I suppose."
Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I was born in that house
and lived there all my life up to five years ago."
"And then you gave it up. Why? . . . Please forgive me. I didn't
mean to be curious."
"Oh, that's all right, ma'am. Nothin' secret about it. My mother
died and I didn't seem to care about livin' there alone, that's
all."
"I see. I understand."
She looked as if she did understand, and Jed, the seldom
understood, experienced an unusual pleasure. The sensation
produced 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!" she
exclaimed. "May I?"
Now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry. It
had been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not have
told why. His visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and,
above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of a
freak. Under this unaccustomed treatment Jed Winslow had been
caught off his guard--hypnotized, so to speak. And now, when it
was too late, he realized the possible danger. Only a few hours
ago he had told Mr. and Mrs. George Powless that the key to that
house had been lost.
He paused and hesitated. Mrs. Armstrong noticed his hesitation.
"Please don't think any more about it," she said. "It is
delightful here in the yard. Babbie and I will stay here a few
minutes, 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. He
hastened to disclaim any intention of withdrawal.
"No, no," he protested. "I don't need to go to work, not yet
anyhow. 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 and
the "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 a
slab of wood about the size of half a shingle. Upon one side of
the 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?" she
asked. "What does it say?"
Jed solemnly read the inscription. "I printed that on there," he
explained, "so I'd be able to find the key when I wanted it."
Mrs. Armstrong smiled. "I should think it might help," she
observed, 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' that
half 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 and
the string was hangin' up in the right place, but the key wan't
among those present, as they say in the newspapers."
"Where was it?" demanded Barbara.
"Hush, dear," cautioned her mother. "You mustn't ask so many
questions."
"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 last
time I used it. Naturally enough I shouldn't have thought of
lookin' there and I don't know's I'd have found it yet, but I
happened to shove my hands in my pockets to help me think, and
there 'twas."
This explanation should have been satisfying, doubtless, but
Barbara did not seem to find it wholly so.
"Please may I ask one more question, Mamma?" she pleaded. "Just
only 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 old
steam launch Tobias Wixon used to own. Every time Tobias blew the
whistle it used up all the steam and the engine stopped. I've got
a head about like that engine; when I want to use it I have to give
all the rest of me a layoff. . . . Here we are, ma'am. Walk right
in, won't you."
He showed them through room after room of the little house, opening
the closed shutters so that the afternoon sunlight might stream in
and brighten their progress. The rooms were small, but they were
attractive and cosy. The furniture was almost all old mahogany and
in remarkably good condition. The rugs were home-made; even the
coverlets of the beds were of the old-fashioned blue and white,
woven on the hand looms of our great-grandmothers. Mrs. Armstrong
was enthusiastic.
"It is like a miniature museum of antiques," she declared. "And
such wonderful antiques, too. You must have been besieged by
people who wanted to buy them."
Jed nodded. "Ye-es," he admitted, "I cal'late there's been no
less'n a million antiquers here in the last four or five year. I
don'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 every
summer, 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 if
there was anything worse than smallpox and he said he cal'lated
leprosy was about as bad as any disease goin'. It worked fine
while it lasted, but the Board of Health made me take it down; said
there wan't any leprosy on the premises. I told 'em no, but 'twas
a good idea to beware of it anyhow, and I'd put up the sign just on
general 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 have
a 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 little
while and clean up. Mother was always a great one for keepin'
things slicked up," he added, apologetically, "and I--I kind of
like to think 'twould please her. Foolish, I presume likely, but--
well, foolish things seem to come natural to me. Got a kind of a
gift 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 look
that his closest associates knew so well. She had not met it
before and found it rather embarrassing, especially as it kept on
and on.
"Well?" she asked, after a time. He started and awoke to
realities.
"I was just thinkin'," he explained, "that you was the only woman
that has been in this house since the summer I let it to the
Davidson folks. And Mrs. Davidson wan't a mite like you."
That was true enough. Mrs. Davidson had been a plump elderly
matron with gray hair, a rather rasping voice and a somewhat
aggressive manner. Mrs. Armstrong was young and slim, her hair and
eyes were dark, her manner refined and her voice low and gentle.
And, if Jed had been in the habit of noticing such things, he might
have noticed that she was pleasant to look at. Perhaps he was
conscious of this fact, but, if so, it was only in a vague, general
way.
His gaze wandered to Barbara, who, with Petunia, was curled up in a
big old-fashioned rocker.
"And a child, too," he mused. "I don't know when there's been a
child in here. Not since I was one, I guess likely, and that's too
long 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 name
of 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 that
it 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't
cal'late 'twas so very high, considerin' that 'twas just for
'summer and furnished and all. The Davidsons paid forty dollars a
month, but--"
"FORTY dollars! A month? And furnished like that? You mean a
week, don't you?"
Mr. Winslow looked at her. The slow smile wandered across his
face. He evidently suspected a joke.
"Why, no, ma'am," he drawled. "You see, they was rentin' the
place, not buyin' it."
"But forty dollars a month is VERY cheap."
"Is it? Sho! Now you speak of it I remember that Captain Sam
seemed 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 that
I 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 too
much, 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 was
too high a rent. It isn't, it is a very low one. I meant that it
was more than I ought to think of paying. You see, Mr. Winslow, I
have 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, have
been very pleasant and kind. And it is necessary--that is, it
seems to me preferable--that we live, for some years at least, away
from the city. This little house of yours is perfect. I fell in
love with the outside of it at first sight. Now I find the inside
even more delightful. I"--she hesitated, and then added--"I don't
suppose you would care to let it unfurnished at--at a lower rate?"
Jed was very much embarrassed. The idea that his caller would make
such 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 had
taken a real fancy to Barbara; but his prejudice against tenants
remained. He rubbed his chin.
"Why--why, now, ma'am," he stammered, "you--you wouldn't like
livin' 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 I
cannot afford to live otherwise than very simply anywhere. I have
been boarding in Orham for almost three months now and I feel that
I have given it a trial."
"Yes--yes, ma'am, but summer's considerable more lively than winter
here on the Cape."
"I have no desire for society. I expect to be quiet and I wish to
be. Mr. Winslow, would you consider letting me occupy this house--
unfurnished, of course? I should dearly love to take it just as it
is--this furniture is far more fitting for it than mine--but I
cannot afford forty dollars a month. Provided you were willing to
let me hire the house of you at all, not for the summer alone but
for 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 I
want to let this house at all. I--I've had consider'ble many
chances to rent it, but--but--"
He could not seem to find a satisfactory ending to the sentence and
so left it unfinished. Mrs. Armstrong was evidently much
disappointed, but she did not give up completely.
"I see," she said. "Well, in a way I think I understand. You
prefer the privacy. I think I could promise you that Barbara and I
would disturb you very little. As to the rent, that would be paid
promptly."
"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. You
could call it a trial month, if you liked. You could see how you
liked us, you know. At the end of that time," with a smile, "you
might tell us we wouldn't do at all, or, perhaps, then you might
consider making a more permanent arrangement. Barbara would like
it here, wouldn't you, dear?"
Barbara, who had been listening, nodded excitedly from the big
rocker. "Ever and ever so much," she declared; "and Petunia would
just 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 make
me feel bad."
"Do I? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say anything to hurt your
feelings. I beg your pardon."
"No, you don't. I--I mean you hadn't ought to. You don't hurt my
feelin's; I mean you make me feel bad--wicked--cussed mean--all
that and some more. I know I ought to let you have this house.
Any common, decent man with common decent feelin's and sense would
let you have it. But, you see, I ain't that kind. I--I'm selfish
and--and wicked and--" He waved a big hand in desperation.
She laughed. "Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Besides, it isn't so
desperate as all that. You certainly are not obliged to rent the
house unless you want to."
"But I do want to; that is, I don't, but I know I'd ought to want
to. And if I was goin' to let anybody have it I'd rather 'twould
be you--honest, I would. And it's the right thing for me to do, I
know that. That's what bothers me; the trouble's with ME. I don't
want to do the right thing." He broke off, seemed to reflect and
then 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 and
not heard, uttered a shocked "Oh!"
Jed waved his hand. "You see," he said, "even that child's morals
are upset by me. I know I ought to want to go to heaven. But when
I 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 how
they talk in prayer-meetin' and then see how they act outside of
it, 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 a
suspicion of the twinkle in his eye: "The general opinion seems to
be 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 seem
to expect any.
"Ma'am," he continued, "you see what I mean. The trouble's with
me, I ain't made right. I ought to let that house; Sam Hunniwell
told me so this mornin'. But I--I don't want to. Nothin' personal
to you, you understand; but . . . Eh? Who's that?"
A step sounded on the walk outside and voices were heard. Jed
turned 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's
wicked 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 our
Bridget was, a rough damson."
"Not damson; diamond, dear."
"Oh, yes. It was damson preserve Mrs. Smalley had for supper last
night. I forgot. Petunia told me to say damson; she makes so many
mistakes."
They heard the "rough diamond" returning. He seemed to be in a
hurry. When he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked very
much frightened.
"What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Armstrong.
Jed gulped.
"They've come back," he whispered. "Godfreys, I forgot 'em, and
they'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't
see 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. George
Powless in her wake. The former saw Mr. Winslow and fixed him with
her glittering eye, as the Ancient Mariner fixed the wedding guest.
"Ah!" she observed, with majestic irony, "the lost key is found, it
would 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 the
interior of this house to other interested persons," with a glance
like 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 hear
this man distinctly tell you that this house WAS his?"
George nodded. "Certainly, my dear," he declared. Then turning to
Mr. Winslow, he demanded: "What do you mean by saying it is yours
one moment and not yours the next; eh?"
Jed looked around. For one instant his gaze rested upon the face
of Mrs. Armstrong. Then he drew himself up.
"Because," he declared, "I've rented it furnished to this lady
here. And, that bein' the case, it ain't mine just now and I ain't
got 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 she
expressed her opinion of Mr. Winslow's behavior. Mr. George
Powless followed her, expressing his opinion as he went. The
object of their adjuration sat down upon a rush-bottomed chair and
rubbed his chin.
"Lord!" he exclaimed, with fervor. Mrs. Armstrong looked at him in
amazement.
"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't
been here she would."
"Jed!" shouted a voice outside. "Jed, where are you?"
Mr. Winslow raised his head. "Eh?" he queried. "That's Sam
hollerin', ain't it?"
It was Captain Hunniwell and a moment later he entered the little
sitting-room. When he saw who his friend's companions were he
seemed greatly surprised.
"Why, Mrs. Armstrong!" he exclaimed. "Are you here? Now that's a
funny thing. The last time I saw Jed I warned him I was goin' to
send 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' to
send to see about hirin' this house?"
"Sure it was. Why not?"
Jed pointed toward the door. "Then--then who," he demanded, "sent
those Powlesses here?"
"No one that I know of. And anyhow they don't want to rent any
houses. 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 got
to 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 and
things, Jed. She's the greatest antique hunter on earth, so they
tell 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 you
didn't mean it. Of course, knowing your feelings, I shouldn't
think of taking the house."
But Jed slowly shook his head.
"I want you to," he declared. "Yes, I mean it. I want you to come
and live in this house for a month, anyhow. If you don't, that
Powless woman will come back and buy every stick and rag on the
place. I don't want to sell 'em, but I couldn't say no to her any
more than I could to the Old Harry. I called her the Old Scratch's
wife, 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 judge
he's her second husband."