J
 
 SHAVINGS 
 
 By JOSEPH C. LINCOLN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ?*Ertricating Obadiah," 
 ?*Mary 'Gusta," Etc. 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with D. APPLETON & COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 SRLfi 
 URl) 
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MR. GABRIEL BEARSE was happy. The promi- 
 nence given to this statement is not meant to imply 
 that Gabriel was, as a general rule, unhappy. Quite 
 the contrary; Mr. Bearse's disposition was a cheerful one 
 and the cares of this world had not rounded his plump 
 shoulders. But Captain Sam Hunniwell had once said, and 
 Orham public opinion agreed with him, that Gabe Bearse 
 was never happy unless he was talking. Now here was 
 Gabriel, not talking, but walking briskly along the Orham 
 main road, and yet so distinctly happy that the happiness 
 showed in his gait, his manner and in the excited glitter of 
 bis watery eye. Truly an astonishing condition of things 
 and tending, one would say, to prove that Captain Sam's 
 didactic remark, so 'ong locally accepted and quoted as 
 gospel truth, 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 was expecting to talk very soon, to talk a great 
 deal. He had just come into possession of an item of 
 news which would furnish his vocal machine gun with 
 ammunition sufficient for wordy volley after volley. Ga- 
 briel was joyfully contemplating peppering all Orham 
 with that bit of gossip. No wonder he was happy; iio 
 wonder he hurried along the main road like a battery gal 
 loping eagerly into action. 
 
 I
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 He was on his way to the post office, always the gossip- 
 sharpshooters' first line trench, when, turning the corner 
 where Nickerson's Lane enters the main road, he saw 
 something which caused him to pause, alter his battle-mad 
 walk to a slower one, then to a saunter, and finally to a 
 halt altogether. This something was a toy windmill fas- 
 tened to a white picket fence and clattering cheerfully as its 
 arms spun in the brisk, pleasant summer breeze. 
 
 The little windmill was one of a dozen, all fastened to 
 the top rail 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 swinging paddles ; 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 
 of these were painted in gay colors, or in black and white, 
 and all were in motion. The mills spun, the boats sailed 
 'round and 'round, the sailors did vigorous Indian 
 club exercises with their paddles. The grass in the little 
 yard and the tall hollyhocks in the beds at its sides swayed 
 and bowed and nodded. Beyond, seen over the edge of the 
 bluff and stretching to the horizon, the blue and white 
 waves leaped and danced and sparkled. As a picture of 
 movement and color and joyful bustle the scene was inspir- 
 ing ; children, viewing it for the first time, almost invariably 
 danced and waved their arms in sympathy. Summer 
 visitors, loitering idly by, suddenly became fired with the 
 desire to set about doing something, 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 natives would have cheerfully testified, it took 
 much more than windmills to arouse his energy. He had 
 not halted to look at the mills. He had stopped because
 
 'SHAVINGS" 
 
 the sight of them recalled to his mind the fact that the 
 maker of these mills was a friend of one of the men most 
 concerned in his brand new news item. It was possible, 
 barely possible, that here was an opportunity to learn just 
 a little more, to obtain an additional clip of cartridges be- 
 fore opening fire on the crowd at the post office. Certainly 
 it might be worth trying, particularly as the afternoon mail 
 would not be ready for another hour, even if the train 
 was on time. 
 
 At the rear of the little yard, and situated perhaps fifty 
 feet from the edge of the high sand bluff leading down 
 precipitously to the beach, was a shingled building, white- 
 washed, and with a door, painted green, and four win- 
 dows on the side toward the road. A clamshell walk led 
 from the gate to the doors. Over the door was 
 a sign, very neatly lettered, as follows: "J. EDGAR W. 
 WINSLOW. MILLS FOR SALE." In the lot next to 
 that, where the little shop stood, was a small, old-fashioned 
 story-and-a-half Cape Cod house, painted a speckless white, 
 with vivid green blinds. The blinds were shut now, for 
 the house was unoccupied. House and shop and both 
 yards were neat and clean as a New England kitchen. 
 
 Gabriel Bearse, after a moment's reflection, opened the 
 gate in the picket fence and walked along the clamshell 
 walk to the shop door. Opening the door, he entered, a 
 bell attached to the top of the door jingling as he did so. 
 The room which Mr. Bearse entered was crowded from 
 floor to ceiling, save for a narrow passage, with hit-or- 
 miss stacks of the wooden toys evidently finished and ready 
 for shipment. Threading his way between the heaps of 
 sailors, mills, vanes and boats, Gabriel came to a door 
 evidently leading to another room. There was a sign 
 tacked to this door, which read, "PRIVATE," but Mr.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 
 
 Bearse did not let that trouble him. He pushed the doot> 
 open. 
 
 The second room was evidently the work-shop. There 
 were a circular saw and a turning lathe, with the 
 needful belts, and a small electric 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 had 
 evidently risen at the sound of the door bell, with a dripping 
 paint brush in one hand and a wooden sailor in the other, 
 there was a man. When he saw who his visitor was he 
 sat down again. 
 
 He was a tall nan and, as the chair he sat in was a low 
 one and the heels of his large shoes were hooVed over its 
 lower rounds, his knees and shoulders were close together 
 when he bent over his work. He was a thin man and hi$ 
 trousers hung about his ankles like a loose sail on a yardi 
 His hair was thick and plentiful, a brown sprinkled with 
 gray at the temples. His face was smooth-shaven, with 
 wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and mouth. He wore 
 spectacles perched at the very end of his nose, and looked 
 down over rather than through them as he dipped the 
 brush in the can of paint 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 wooden sailor. One side of those legs were modestly 
 covered forthwith by a pair of sky-blue breeches. The 
 artist regarded the breeches dreamily. Then he said: 
 
 "Hello, Gab." 
 
 His voice was a drawl, very deliberate, very quiet, 
 rather soft and pleasant. 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 elevation of the pine sailor became sky-blue like the othei 
 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 was in here Cap'n Sam Hunniwell heard you call 
 me that and I cal'lated he'd die laughin'. Seemed to cal'late 
 there was somethin' specially dum funny about it. / 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 he came there to ask. His eagerness was not con- 
 tagious. The man on the chair put down the blue brush, 
 took up a fresh one, dipped it in another paint pot and 
 proceeded to garb another section of his sailor in a spot- 
 less white shirt. Mr. Bearse grew impatient. 
 
 "Have you heard the news about Cap'n Sam?" he re- 
 peated. "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 hint usually glanced from it like a piece of soap from a 
 slanting cellar door, 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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 
 
 had never until that moment occured to him. "Why, say, 
 Jed, don't you like to be called 'Shavin's' ?" 
 
 No answer. A blue collar was added to the white 
 shirt of the sailor. 
 
 "Don't you, Jed ?" repeated Gabe. 
 
 Mr. Winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his 
 eyes turned momentarily in the direction of his caller. 
 
 "Gabe," he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller 
 chat was born stone deef and the Doxology?" 
 
 "Eh? What No, I never heard it." 
 
 The eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and Mr. Win- 
 slow chose another brush. 
 
 "Neither did he," he observed, and began to whistle 
 what sounded like a dirge. 
 
 Mr. Bearse stared at him for at least a minute. Then 
 he shook his head. 
 
 "Well, by Judas!" he exclaimed. "I I I snum if I 
 don't think you be 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? They wan'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 over in his hand, whistled a few more bars of the 
 dirge and then finished his sentence. "I thought maybe you 
 might like to ask questions about 'em," he concluded. 
 
 Mr. Bearse stared suspiciously at his companion, swal- 
 lowed several times and, between swallows, started to speak, 
 but each time gave it up. Mr. Winslow appeared quite 
 oblivious of the stare. His brushes gave the wooden saikv
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 black hair, eyes and brows, and an engaging crimson smile. 
 When Gabriel did speak it was not concerning 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 would hear; he told you himself, I cal'late. Seth 
 Baker said he see him come in here night afore last and I 
 suppose that's when he told you. Didn't say nothin' else, 
 did he?" he added, eagerly. 
 
 Again Mr. Winslow nodded. 
 
 "Did he? Did he? What dse 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 
 fool head!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "Look here, Jed 
 Winslow, talk sense for a minute, if you can, won't you? 
 I've just heard somethin' that's goin' to make a big row in 
 this town and it's got to do with Cap'n Sam's bein' app'inted 
 on that Gov'ment Exemption Board for drafted folks. If 
 you'd heard Phineas Babbitt goin' on the way I done, I guess 
 likely you'd have been interested." 
 
 It was plain that, for the first time since his caller in- 
 truded upon his privacy, the maker of mills and sailors was 
 interested. He did not put down his brush, but he turned 
 his head to look and listen. Bearse, pleased with this symp- 
 tom of attention, went on. 
 
 "I was just into Phineas' store," he said, "and he was 
 there, so I had a chance to talk with him. He's been up to 
 Boston and never got back till this afternoon, so I cal'lated
 
 8 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 maybe he hadn't heard about Cap'n Sam's app'intment. And 
 I knew, too, how he does hate the Cap'n; ain't had nothin* 
 but cuss words and such names for him ever 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 a certain matter," he said. "Sam told th& 
 truth, that's all." 
 
 !i "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, Jed Winslow, if " 
 
 Jed held up a big hand. "There, there, Gabe," he sug- 
 gested, mildly. "Let's hear about Sam and Phin Babbitt. 
 What was Phineas goin' on about when you was in his 
 store?" 
 
 Mr. Bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to 
 tell the story. 
 
 "Why," he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'Twas all 
 on account of Leander. 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 latter President of the Orham National 
 Bank and also a vigorous politician, the dislike had always 
 been strong. Since the affair of the postmastership it had 
 become, on Babbitt's part, an intense hatred. During the 
 week just past young Babbitt's name had been drawn as
 
 'SHAVINGS" 
 
 one of Orham's quota for the new National Army. The 
 village was still talking of the draft when the news came 
 that Captain Hunniwell had been selected as a member of 
 the Exemption Board for the district, the Board which was 
 to hold its sessions at Ostable and listen to the pleas of those 
 desiring to be excused from service. Not all of Orham 
 knew this as yet. Jed Winslow had heard it, from Captain 
 Sam himself. Gabe Bearse had heard it because he made 
 it his business to hear everything, whether it concerned him 
 or not preferably not. 
 
 The war had come to Orham with the unbelievable un- 
 reality with which it had come to the great mass of the 
 country. Ever since the news of the descent of von Kluck's 
 hordes upon devoted Belgium, in the fall of 1914, the death 
 grapple ir Europe had, of course, been the principal topic 
 of discussion at the post office and around the whist tables 
 at the Setuckit Club, where ancient and retired mariners 
 met and pounded their own and each other's knees while 
 they expressed sulphurous opinions concerning the attitude 
 of the President and Congress. These opinions were, as a 
 usual thing, guided by the fact of their holders' allegiance 
 to one or the other of the great political parties. Captain 
 Sam Hunniwell, a lifelong and ardent Republican, with a 
 temper as peppery as the chile con came upon which, when 
 commander of a steam freighter trading with Mexico, he 
 had feasted so often Captain Sam would have hoisted the 
 Stars and Stripes to the masthead the day the Lusitania 
 sank and put to sea in a dory, if need be, and armed only 
 with a shotgun, to avenge that outrage. To hear Captain 
 Sam orate concerning the neglect of duty of which he con- 
 sidered the United States government guilty was an ex* 
 perience, interesting or shocking, according to the drift of 
 one's political or religious creed. 
 
 Phineas Babbitt, on the contrary, had at first upheld the
 
 io "SHAVINGS" 
 
 policy of strict neutrality. "What business is it of ours if 
 them furriners take to slaughterin' themselves?" he wanted 
 to know. He hotly declared the Lusitania victims plaguey 
 fools who knew what they were riskin' when they sailed and 
 had got just what was comin' to 'em that is, he was pro- 
 claiming it when Captain Sam heard him; after that the 
 captain issued a proclamation of his own and was proceed- 
 ing to follow words with deeds. The affair ended by 
 mutual acquaintances leading Captain Sam from the Babbitt 
 Hardware Company's store, the captain rumbling like a 
 volcano and, to follow up the simile, still emitting verbal 
 brimstone and molten lava, while Mr. Babbitt, entrenched 
 behind his counter, with a monkey wrench in his hand, 
 dared his adversary to lay hands on a law-abiding citizen. 
 
 When the Kaiser and von Tirpitz issued their final ultU 
 matum, however, and the President called America to arms, 
 Phineas, in company with others of his breed, appeared to 
 have experienced a change of heart. At all events he kept 
 his anti-war opinions to himself and, except that his hatred 
 for the captain was more virulent than ever since the affair 
 of the postmastership, he found little fault with the war 
 preparations in the village, the organizing of a Home Guard, 
 the raising of funds for a new flag and flagpole and the 
 recruiting meeting in the town hall. 
 
 At that meeting a half dozen of Orham's best young fel- 
 lows had expressed their desire to fight for Uncle Sam. 
 The Orham band minus its first cornet, who was himself 
 one of the volunteers had serenaded them at the railway 
 station and the Congregational minister and Lawyer Pound- 
 berry of the Board of Selectmen had made speeches. Cap- 
 tain Sam Hunniwell, being called upon to say a few words, 
 had said a few perhaps, considering the feelings of the 
 minister and the feminine members of his flock present, 
 it is well they were not more numerous.
 
 'SHAVINGS" ii 
 
 "Good luck to you, boys," said Captain Sam. "I wish 
 to the Almighty I was young enough to go with you. And 
 say, if you see that Kaiser anywheres afloat or ashore give 
 him particular merry hell for me, will you?" 
 
 And then, a little later, came the news that the con- 
 scription bill had become a law and that the draft was to 
 be a reality. And with that news the war itself became a 
 little more real. And, suddenly, Phineas Babbitt, realizing 
 that his son, Leander, was twenty-five years old and, there- 
 fore, within the limits of the draft age, became once more 
 an ardent, if a little more careful, conscientious objector. 
 
 He discovered that the war was a profiteering enterprise 
 engineered by capital and greed for the exploiting of labor 
 and the common people. Whenever he thought it safe to 
 do so he aired these opinions and, as there were a few of 
 what Captain Hunniwell called "yellow-backed swabs" in 
 Orham or its neighborhood, he occasionally had sympathetic 
 listeners. Phineas, it is only fair to say, had never hereto- 
 fore shown any marked interest in labor except to get as 
 much of it for as little money as possible. If his son, Lean- 
 der, shared his father's opinions, he did not express them. 
 In fact he said very little, working steadily in the store all 
 day and appearing to have something on his mind. Most 
 people liked Leander. 
 
 Then came the draft and Leander was drafted. He said 
 very little about 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 was going to be 
 an Exemption Board., wasn't there? All right just wait 
 until he, Phineas, went before that board. He hadn't been 
 in politics all these years for nothin'. Sam HunniweH 
 hadn't got all the pull there was in the county.
 
 12 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 And then Captain Sam was appointed a member of that 
 very board. He had dropped in at the windmill shop the 
 very evening when he decided to accept and told Jed Win- 
 slow all about it. There never were two people more unlike 
 than Sam Hunniwell and Jed Winslow, but they had been 
 fast friends since boyhood. Jed knew that Phineas Babbitt 
 had been on a trip to Boston and, therefore, had not heard 
 of the captain's appointment. Now, according to Gabriel 
 Bearse, he had returned and had heard of it, and ac- 
 cording to Bearse's excited statement he had "gone on" 
 about it. 
 
 "Leander's been drafted," repeated Gabe. "And that was 
 bad enough for Phineas, he bein' down on the war, any- 
 how. But he's been cal'latin', I cal'late, to use his political 
 pull to get Leander exempted off. Nine boards out of ten, 
 if they'd had a man from Orham on 'em, would have gone 
 by what that man said in a case like Leander's. And 
 Phineas, he was movin' heavens and earth to get one of 
 his friends put on as the right Orham man. And now 
 now, by godfreys domino, they've put on the one man that 
 Phin can't influence, that hates Phin worse than a cat hates 
 a swim. Oh, you ought to heard Phineas go on when I 
 told him. He'd just got off the 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 runs errands and waits on folks when 
 everybody else is busy. That was a funny thing, too that 
 about Leander's not bein' there. Susie said she hadn't seen 
 him since just after breakfast time, half past seven o'clock 
 or so, and when she telephoned the Babbitt house it turned
 
 'SHAVINGS" 13 
 
 out he hadn't been there, neither. Had his breakfast and 
 went out, he did, and that's all his step-ma knew about him. 
 But Phineas, he. ... Eh ? Ain't that the bell ? Customer, 
 I presume likely. 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 the trouble. He, too, disregarded the 
 "Private" sign on the door of the inner room. Before 
 Gabriel could reach it that door was thrown open 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 enough to have knocked a hole in it, if such a pro- 
 cedure had been necessary. And its owner looked quite 
 capable of doing it, if he deemed it necessary, in fact he 
 looked as if he would rather have enjoyed it. H swept into 
 the room like a northwest breeze, and two 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 rest of 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 
 and humor each person he met each person of consequence, 
 that is; very poor people or village eccentrics like Jed 
 Winslow did not much matter, of course was in this case 
 augmented by a particular desire to please Captain Sarn 
 Hunniwell. Captain Sam, being one of Orham's most in- 
 fluential men, was not, in Mr. Bearse's estimation, at all the 
 sort of person whom it was advisable to displease. He 
 might and did talk disparagingly of him behind his back, 
 as he did behind the back of every one else, but he smiled 
 humbly and spoke softly in his presence. The conscious- 
 id
 
 'SHAVINGS" 15 
 
 ness of having just been talking of him, however, of having 
 visited that shop for the express purpose of talking about 
 him, made the explaining process a trifle embarrassing. 
 
 "Cl\ howd'ye do, howd'ye do, Cap'n Hunniwell ?" stam- 
 mered 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 little call, 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 racl* 
 to dry. 
 
 "Ya-as," he drawled, solemnly, "that was about it, 1 
 guess. Have a chair, Sam, won't you? . . . That was about 
 it, we was sittin' and talkin' ... I was sittin' and Gab 
 Gabe, I mean was talkin'." 
 
 Captain Sam chuckled. As Winslow and Mr. Bearse 
 were occupying the only two chairs in the room he accepted 
 the invitation in its broad sense 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 near him. He eyed it dreamily. 
 
 "Well, Gabe," he observed, "if you must, you must, I 
 suppose. Seems to me you're leavin' at the most interestm' 
 time. We've been talkin' about this and that, same as you 
 say, and now you're leavin' just as 'this' has got here. 
 Maybe if you wait wait a " 
 
 The sentence died away into nothingness. He had taken 
 up the brush which he used for the blue paint. There was
 
 16 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 the rest of it?" 
 
 "I cal'late I'll run along now," said Mr. Bearse, nervously 
 moving toward the door. 
 
 "Hold on a minute," commanded the captain. "Jed 
 hadn't finished what he was sayin' to you He generally 
 talks like one of those continued-in-our-next yarns in the 
 magazines. Give us the September 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, lingering for an instant at one corner of his 
 mouth. 
 
 "Oh, I was just tellin' Gabe that the 'this' he was talkin' 
 about was here now," he said, "and that maybe if he waited 
 a space the 'that' would come, too. Seems to me if I war 
 you, Gabe, I'd " 
 
 But Mr. Bearse had gone. 
 
 Captain Hunniwell snorted. "Humph!" he said; "I 
 judge likely I'm the 'this' you and that gas bag have been 
 talkin' about. Who's the 'that' ?" 
 
 His companion was gazing absently at the door through 
 which Gabriel had made his hurried departure. After gaz- 
 ing at it in silence for a moment, he rose from the chair, 
 unfolding section by section like a pocket rule, and, crossing 
 the room, opened the door and took from its other side the 
 lettered sign "Private" which had hung there. Then, with 
 tacks and a hammer, he proceeded to affix the placard to 
 the inner side of the door, that facing the room where he 
 and Captain Sam were. The captain regarded this opera- 
 tion with huge astonishment.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 17 
 
 "Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "What in thunder are 
 you doin' that for? 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 on this side of the door." 
 
 "Yes, but Why, confound it, anybody who sees it 
 
 there will think it 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't belong there he'll be sartin sure to go there; 
 then maybe he'll give me a rest." 
 
 He selected a new brush and went on with his painting. 
 Captain Hunniwell laughed heartily. Then, all at once, 
 his laughter ceased and his face assumed a troubled ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Jed," he ordered, "leave off daubin* at that wooden 
 doll baby for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you. 
 I want to ask you what you think I'd better do. I know 
 
 what Gab Bearse Much obliged for that name, Jed; 
 
 'Gab's' the best name on earth for that critter I know what 
 Gab came in here to talk about. 'Twas about me and my 
 bein' put on the Exemption Board, of course. That was it, 
 wan't it ? Um-hm, I knew 'twas. I was the 'this' in his 'this 
 <md that.' And Phin Babbitt was the 'that' ; I'll bet on it. 
 Am I right?" 
 
 Winslow nodded. 
 
 "Sure thing!" continued the captain. "Well, there 'tis. 
 What am I goin' to do ? When they wanted me to take the 
 job in the first place I kind of hesitated. You know I did. 
 'Twas bound to be one of those thankless sort of jobs that 
 get a feller into trouble, bound to be. And yet and yet
 
 18 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 well, somebody has to take those kind of jobs. And a man 
 hadn't ought to talk all the time about how he wishes he 
 could do somethin' to help his country, and then lay 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 state so 
 the Germans can't get it, or somethin' like that. Ain't 
 that so?" 
 
 "Seems so to me, Sam." 
 
 "Yes. Well, so I said I'd take my Exemption Board 
 job. But when I said I'd accept it, it didn't run across 
 my mind that Leander Babbitt was liable to be drafted, first 
 crack out of the box. Now he is drafted, and, if I know 
 Phin Babbitt, the old man will be down on us Board fellers 
 the first thing to get the boy exempted. And, I bein' on the 
 Board and hailin' from his own town, Orham here, 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 ltst pa 
 tience. 
 
 "Gracious king !" he exclaimed. "Jed Winslow, for thun- 
 der sakes say somethin' ! Don't set there bobbin' your 
 head un and down like one of those wound-up images in a 
 Christmas-time store window. I ask you if that ain't what 
 Phin Babbitt would do? What would you do if you 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, even if he had to go barefooted the rest of his life. 
 But, what I'm gettin' at is this: Babbitt'll come to me 
 orderin' me to get Leander exempted. And what'll I say ?" 
 
 Winslow turned and looked at him. 
 
 "Seems to me, Sam," he answered, "that if that thing 
 happened there'd be only one thing to say. You'd just have
 
 "SHAVINGS" 19 
 
 to tell him that you'd listen to his reasons and if they seemed 
 good enough to let the boy off, for your part you'd vote 
 to let him off. If they didn'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 in his eye. 
 
 Captain Sam sniffed, perhaps in disappointment. "His 
 hardware'd melt where I'd tell him to go," he declared. 
 "What you say is all right, Ed. It's an easy doctrine to 
 preach, but, like lots of other preacher's doctrines, it's 
 hard to live up to. Phin loves me like a step-brother and 
 I love him the same way. Well, now here he comes to 
 ask me to do a favor for him. If I don't do it, he'll say. 
 and the whole town'll say, that I'm ventin' my spite on 
 him, keepin' on with my grudge, bein' nasty, cussed, every- 
 thing that's mean. If I do do it, if I let Leander off, all 
 hands'll say that I did it because I was afraid of Phineas 
 and the rest would say the other thing. It puts me in a 
 devil of a position. It's all right to say, 'Do your duty/ 
 'Stand up in your shoes,' 'Do what you think's right, never 
 mind whose boy 'tis,' and all that, but I wouldn't have 
 that old skunk goin' around sayin' I took advantage of my 
 position to rob him of his son for anything on earth. I 
 despise him too much to give him that much satisfaction. 
 And yet there 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 up the job? Shall I quit?"
 
 20 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed put down the brush and the sailoi 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 it took a lot of practice to be a quitter. You 
 never practiced." 
 
 "Thanks. All right, then, I'm to hang on, I suppose, 
 and take my medicine. If that's all the advice you've got 
 to give me, I might as well have stayed at home. But I 
 tell you this, Jed Winslow: If I'd realized if I'd thought 
 about the Leander Babbitt case comin' up afore me on that 
 Board I never would have accepted the appointment. When 
 you and I were talkin' here the other night it's queer that 
 neither of us thought of it. ... Eh? What are you look- 
 in' at me like that for? You don't mean to tell me th. 
 you did think 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 outer shop rang. The maker of windmills rose jerkilj 
 to his feet. Captain Sam made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Get rid of your customer and come back here soon as 
 you can," he ordered. Having commanded a steamer be- 
 fore he left the sea and become a banker, the captain usually 
 ordered rather than requested. "Hurry all you can. I 
 ain't half through talkin' with you. For the land sakes, 
 move! Of all the deliberate, slow travelin" " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, nor did Winslow, who 
 had started toward the door, have time to reach it. The 
 door was opened and a short, thickset man, with a leathery 
 face and a bristling yellow-white chin beard, burst into
 
 "SHAVINGS" 21 
 
 the room. At the sight of its occupants he uttered a grunt 
 of satisfaction and his bushy brows were drawn together 
 above his little eyes, the latter a washed-out gray and 
 set very close together. 
 
 "Humph!" he snarled, vindictively. "So you be here. 
 Gabe Bearse said you was, but I thought probably he was 
 lyin', as usual. Did he lie about the other thing, that's 
 what I've come here to find out? Sam Hunniwell, have 
 you been put on that Draft Exemption Board?" 
 
 "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 to have het you up some, that or somethin' else." 
 
 "Het me up ! By " Mr. Phineas Babbitt swore 
 
 steadily for a full minute. When he stopped for breath 
 Jed Winslow, who had stepped over 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 be held outside.' " 
 
 "By ," began Mr. Babbitt again, but this time it was 
 Captain Sam who interrupted. The captain occasionally 
 swore at other people, but he was not accustomed to be 
 sworn at He, too, began to "heat up." 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 reply Winslow, turning away from the window, did 
 so for him.
 
 22 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "If it is, I should say 'twas a pretty complete job," he 
 drawkd. "I don't know when I've heard fewer things left 
 out. You have reason 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. What did you come here for?" 
 
 Phineas Babbitt's hard gray eyes looked up into the big 
 brown ones gazing mildly down upon him. His gaze shifted 
 and his tone when he next spoke was a trifle less savage. 
 
 "He knows well enough what I came here for," he 
 growled, indicating Hunniwell with a jerk of his thumb. 
 "He knows that just as well as he knows why he had 
 himself put on that Exemption Board." 
 
 "I didn't have myself put there," declared the captain. 
 "The job was 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 to gt it and I know why you did it, too. 'Twas 
 to get another crack at me. 'Twas to play another dirty 
 trick on me like the one you played that cheated me out of 
 the post office. You knew they'd drafted 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 do with it. I never thought of his name 
 bein' drawn when I said I'd accept the job.'* 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 "What? Why, you little sawed-off, dried-up, sassy son 
 of a sea cook! I'll "
 
 'SHAVINGS" 23 
 
 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've got a call to testify and I feel the spirit aworkin'. 
 Set down again, 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 at his adversary and remained standing. 
 
 "Phin " begged Winslow. But Mr. Babbitt, although 
 
 a trifle paler than when he entered the shop, was not more 
 yielding. 
 
 "I'm particular who I set down along of," he declared. 
 "I'd as soon 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 to bite. He ain't all bad smell and nothin' 
 else." 
 
 Babbitt's bristling chin beard quivered with inarticulate 
 hr.tred. Winslow sighed resignedly. 
 
 "Well," he asked, "you don't mind the other er critter 
 in the menagerie sittin', do you? Now now now, just a 
 minute," he pleaded, as his two companions showed symp- 
 toms of speaking simultaneously. "Just a minute; let me 
 say a word. Phineas, I judge 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's just on Leander's 
 account ?" 
 
 But before the furious Mr. Babbitt could answer there 
 came another interruption. The bell attached to the door 
 of the outer shop rang once more. Jed, who had accepted 
 his own invitation to sit, rose again with a groan.
 
 24 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Now I wonder who that is?" he drawled, in mild 
 surprise. 
 
 Captain Hunniwell's frayed patience, never noted for 
 long endurance, snapped again. "Gracious king! go and 
 find out," he roared. "Whoever 'tis '11 die of old age 
 before you get there." 
 
 The slow smile drifted over Mr. Winslow's face. 
 
 "Probably if I wait and give 'em a chance they'll come 
 in here and have apoplexy instead," he said. "That seems 
 to be the fashionable disease this afternoon. They won't 
 stay out there and be lonesome ; they'll come in here where 
 it's private and there's a crowd. Eh? Yes, here they 
 come." 
 
 But the newest visitor did not come, like the others, 
 uninvited into the "private" room. Instead he knocked on 
 its door. When Winslow opened it he saw a small boy 
 with a yellow envelope in his hand. 
 
 "Hello, Josiah," hailed Jed, genially. "How's the presi- 
 dent of the Western 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 the office 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 do when they receive an unexpected letter 
 or message, he tore it open. 
 
 Winslow and Captain Sam, watching him, saw his face, 
 to which the color had returned in the last few minutes, 
 grow white again. He staggered a little. Ted stepped 
 toward him.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 25 
 
 "What is it, Phin?" he asked. "Somebody dead or- 
 
 Babbitt waved him away. "No," he gasped, chokingly. 
 "No, let me be. I'm I'm all right." 
 
 Captain Sam, a little conscience-stricken, came forward. 
 
 "Are you sick, Phin?" he asked. "Is there anything I 
 can do?" 
 
 Phineas glowered at him. "Yes," he snarled between 
 his clenched teeth, "you can mind your own darned busi- 
 ness." 
 
 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 
 telegram rattling in his shaking hand, followed him. The 
 captain, hurrying to the window, saw him go down the walk 
 and along the road in the direction of his store. He walked 
 like a man stricken. 
 
 Captain Sam turned back again. "Now what in time 
 was in that telegram?" he demanded. Jed, standing with 
 his back toward him and looking 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 him like a shock of paralysis. He went all to 
 pieces. What on earth do you suppose was in it? Eh? 
 Why don't you say somethin' ? You don'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? Jed Winslow, 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 from Leander."
 
 26 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Leander? Leander Babbitt? What ... Eh? What 
 in thunder do you want ?" 
 
 The last question was directed toward the window on 
 the street side of the shop. Mr. Gabriel Bearse was 
 standing on the outside of that 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 with excitement. "Say! Say!" he cried. "Did hf 
 tell you? Did he tell you?" 
 
 "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! If that 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 except Phin and Jim Bailey that does know. I 
 was in the telegraph office when 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, a blind man could see that. Get it off your chest 
 and save your life. What was it?" 
 
 Mr. Bearse leaned forward and whispered. There was 
 no real reason why 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 : 'Have enlisted in the infantry. 
 Made up my mind best thing to do. Will not be back,
 
 'SHAVINGS" 
 
 Have written particulars.' That was it, or pretty nigh it. 
 Leander's enlisted. Never waited for no Exemption Board 
 nor nothin', but went up and enlisted on his own hook with- 
 out tellin' a soul he was goin' to. That's the way Bailey 
 and me figger it up. Say, ain't that some news ? Godfreys, 
 I must hustle back to the post office and tell the gang 
 afore anybody else gets ahead of me. So long!" 
 
 He hurried away on his joyful errand. Captain Hunni- 
 well closed the window and turned to face his friend. 
 
 "Do you suppose that's true, Jed?" he asked. "Do you 
 suppose it can be true?" 
 
 Jed nodded. "Shouldn't be surprised," he said. 
 
 "Good gracious king! Do you mean the boy went off 
 up to Boston on his own hook, as that what's-his-name 
 Gab says, and volunteered and got himself enlisted into 
 the army?" 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder, Sam." 
 
 "Well, my gracious king! Why why no wonder old 
 Babbitt looked as if the main topsail yard had fell on 
 him. Tut, tut, tut! Well, I declare! Now what do you 
 suppose put him up to doin' that ?" 
 
 Winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked 
 up the wooden sailor 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 was like birthmarks and bow legs ; they come early 
 in life and a feller ain't to blame for havin' 'em? Sam, 
 you ain't sorry the boy's volunteered, are you?" 
 
 "Sorry 1 I should say not! For one thing his doin' it 
 makes my job on the Exemption Board a mighty sight 
 easier. There won't be any row there with Phineas now."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Noo, I thought 'twould help that. But that wan't the 
 whole reason, Sam." 
 
 "Reason for what? What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that wan't my whole reason for tellin' Leander 
 he'd better volunteer, better go up to Boston and enlist, 
 same as he did. That was part, but 'twan't all." 
 
 Captain Sam's eyes and mouth opened. He stared at 
 the speaker in amazement. 
 
 "You told him to volunteer?" he repeated. "You told 
 him to go to Boston 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 him and he er hum I'm afraid that paint's kind 
 of thick. Cal'late I'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? Finish her out. Can't you see you've got my 
 head whirlin' like one of those windmills of yours ? Finish 
 her out! " 
 
 Jed looked over his spectacles. 
 
 "Oh!" he said. "Well, Leander's been comin' in here 
 pretty frequent and we've talked about his affairs a good 
 deal. He's always 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, and likely to be any good to Uncle Sam. Yes, 
 Leander's been anxious to go 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't hardly know what 
 to do. But then when he was drawn on the draft list he 
 came in here and he and I had a long talk. 'Twas yester-
 
 "SHAVINGS" 29 
 
 day, after you'd told me about bein' put on the Board, 
 you know. I could see the trouble there'd be between you 
 and Phineas and and well, you see, Sam, I just kind 
 of wanted that boy to volunteer. I I don't know why, 
 
 but " He looked up from his work and stared dreamily 
 
 out of the window. "I guess maybe 'twas because I've 
 been wishin' so that I could go myself or do somethin 
 that was some good. So Leander and I talked and finally 
 he said, 'Well, by George, I will go.' And and well, I 
 guess that'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 said a 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 me out of a nasty row. For my part 
 I'm everlastin' obliged to you, I am 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 here somewheres I thought maybe you'd take to the 
 bank and deposit for me 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 of his work bench, amid nails, tools and huddles 
 of papers, he produced a small bundle of banknotes ; from 
 another drawer another bundle. These, however, did not 
 seem to satisfy him entirely. At last, after a good deal 
 of very deliberate search, he unearthed more paper currency 
 from the pocket of a dirty pair of overalls hanging on a
 
 30 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 nail, and emptied a heap of silver and coppers from a bat- 
 tered can on the shelf. Captain Hunniwell, muttering to 
 himself, watched the collecting process. When it was 
 completed, he asked: 
 
 "Is this all?" 
 
 "Eh? Yes, I guess 'tis. I can't seem to find any more 
 just now. Maybe another batch'll turn iT p later. If it 
 does I'll keep it till next 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 con- 
 sider'ble comin' in last fortni't or so. Summer folks been 
 payin' bills and one thing or 'nother. Might be forty or 
 fifty dollars, I presume likely." 
 
 "Forty or fifty ! Nearer a hundred and fifty ! And you 
 keep it stuffed 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 wonder if you did. How many times have 
 I told you to deposit your money every 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 to forget I've got it. Long's it's round 
 here somewheres I why, I know 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 all my goin' to sea. I can't make you out. 
 When I see how you act with money and business, and how 
 you let folks take advantage of you, then I think you're a 
 plain dum fool. And yet when you bob up and do soms- 
 Ihin' like gettin' Leander Babbitt to volunteer and gettitu'
 
 'SHAVINGS" 31 
 
 me out of that row with his father, then well, then, I'm 
 ready to swear you're as wise as King Solomon ever was. 
 You're a puzzle to me, Jed. What are you, anyway the 
 dum fool or King Solomon?" 
 
 Jed looked meditatively over his spectacles. The slow 
 smile tw'tched the corners of his lips. 
 
 "Well, Sam," he drawled, "if you put it to vote at town 
 meetin' I cal'late the majority'd be all one way. But, 1 
 don't know" ; he paused, and then added, "I don't know, 
 Sam, but it's just as well as 'tis. A King Solomon down 
 here in Orham would be an awful lonesome cuss."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 UPON a late September day forty-nine years and 
 some months before that upon which Gabe Bearse 
 came to Jed Winslow's windmill shop in Orharo 
 with the news of Leander Babbitt's enlistment, Miss Floretta 
 Thompson came to that village to teach the "downstairs" 
 school. Miss Thompson was an orphan. Her father had 
 kept a small drug store in a town in western Massachusetts. 
 Her mother had been a clergyman's daughter. Both had 
 died when she was in her 'teens. Now, at twenty, she 
 came to Cape Cod, pale, slim, with a wealth of light brown 
 hair and a pa:r of large, dreamy brown eyes. Her taste 
 in dress was peculiar, even eccentric, and Orham soon 
 discovered that 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 it was supposed to impart to the boys and 
 girls of from seven to twelve a rudimentary knowledge of 
 the three R's and of geography. In the first two R's, "read- 
 in' and 'r'tin'," Miss Thompson was proficient. She wrote 
 a flowery Spencerian, which was beautifully "shaded" and 
 looked well on the blackboard, and reading was the dis- 
 sipation of her spare moments. The third "R," 'rithmetic, 
 she loathed. 
 
 Youth, even at the ages of from seven to twelve, is only 
 too proficient in learning to evade hard work. The fact 
 that Teacher took no delight in traveling the prosaic high- 
 ways of addition, multiplication and division, but could be 
 easily lured to wander the flowery lanes of romantic fiction,
 
 'SHAVINGS" 33 
 
 was soon grasped by the downstairs pupils. The hour set 
 for recitation by the first class in arithmetic was often 
 and often monopolized by a hold-over of the first class in 
 reading, while Miss Floretta, artfully spurred by questions 
 asked by the older scholars, rhapsodized on the beauties 
 of James Fenimore Cooper's "Uncas," or Dickens' "Little 
 Nell," or Scott's "Ellen." Some of us antiques, then tow- 
 headed little shavers in the front seats, can still remember 
 Miss Floretta's rendition of the lines: 
 
 "And Saxon / am Roderick Dhu!" 
 
 The extremely genteel, not to say ladylike, elocution of 
 the Highland chief and the indescribable rising inflection 
 and emphasis on the "I." 
 
 These literary rambles had their inevitable effect, an 
 effect noted, after a time, and called to the attention of the 
 school committee by old Captain Lycurgus Batcheldor, 
 whose two grandchildren were among the ramblers. 
 
 "Say," demanded Captain Lycurgus, "how old does a 
 young-one have to be afore it's supposed to know how 
 much four times eight is? My Sarah's Nathan is pretty 
 nigh ten and he don't know it. Gave me three answers he 
 did; first that 'twas forty-eight, then that 'twas eighty-four 
 and then that he'd forgot what 'twas. But I noticed he could 
 tell me a whole string about some feller called Lockintar 
 or Lochinvar or some such outlandish name, and not only 
 his name but where he came from, which was out west 
 somewheres. A poetry piece 'twas ; Nate said the teacher'd 
 been speakin' it to 'em. I ain't got no objection to speakin' 
 pieces, but I do object to bein' told that four times eight is 
 eighty-four, 'specially when I'm buyin' codfish at eight 
 cents a pound. / ain't on the school committee, but if I 
 was " 
 
 So the committee investigated and when Miss Thompson's 
 year was up and the question arose as to her reengagement,
 
 34 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 there was considerable hesitancy. But the situation was 
 relieved in a most unexpected fashion. Thaddeus Winslow, 
 first mate on the clipper ship, "Owner's Favorite," at home 
 from a voyage to the Dutch East Indies, fell in love with 
 Miss Floretta, proposed, was accepted and married her. 
 
 It was an odd match: Floretta, pale, polite, impractical 
 and intensely romantic; Thad, florid, rough and to the 
 point. Yet the married pair seemed to be happy together. 
 Winslow went to sea on several voyages and, four years 
 after the marriage, remained at home 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 pet yarns even to this day. It seems that there 
 was a marked disagreement concerning the name to be 
 given him. Captain Thad had had an Uncle Edgar, who 
 had been very kind to him when a boy. The captain wished 
 to name his own youngster after this uncle. But Floretta's 
 heart was set upon "Wilfred," her favorite hero of romance 
 being Wilfred of Ivanhoe. The story is that the parents 
 being no nearer an agreement on the great question, Floretta 
 made a proposal of compromise. She proposed that her 
 husband take up his stand by the bedroom window and the 
 first male person he saw passing on the sidewalk below, the 
 name of that person should be given to their offspring; a 
 sporting proposition certainly. But the story goes on to 
 detract a bit from the sporting element by explaining that 
 Mrs. Winslow was expecting a call at that hour from the 
 Baptist minister, and the Baptist minister's Christian name 
 was "Clarence," which, if not quite as romantic as Wil- 
 fred, is by no means common and prosaic. Captain Thad, 
 who had not been informed of the expected ministerial call 
 and was something of a sport himself, assented to the 
 arrangement. It was solemnly agreed that the name of
 
 "SHAVINGS" 35 
 
 the first male passer-by should be the name of the new 
 Winslow. The captain took up his post of observation 
 at the window and waited. 
 
 He did not have to wait long. Unfortunately for ro- 
 mance, the Reverend Clarence was detained at the home 
 of another parishioner a trifle longer than he had planned 
 and the first masculine to pass the Winslow home was old 
 Jedidah Wingate, the fish peddler. Mrs. Diadama Busteed, 
 who was acting as nurse in the family and had been sworn 
 in as witness to the agreement between husband and wife, 
 declared to the day of her death that that death was 
 hastened by the shock to her nervous and moral system 
 caused by Captain Thad's language when old Jedidah hove 
 in sight. He vowed over and over again that he would be 
 everlastingly condemned if he would label a young-one of 
 his with such a crashety-blank-blanked outrage of a name as 
 "Jedidah." "Jedidiah" was bad enough, but there were a 
 few Jedidiahs in O stable County, whereas there was but one 
 Jedidah. Mrs. Winslow, who did not fancy Jedidah any 
 more than her husband did, wept ; Captain Thad's profanity 
 impregnated the air with brimstone. 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 if 
 Fate was interfered with. It ended in a compromise and, 
 a fortnight later, the Reverend Clarence, keeping his 
 countenance with difficulty, christened a red-faced and pro- 
 testing infant "Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow." 
 
 Jedidah Edgar Wilfred grew up. At first he was called 
 "Edgar" by his father and "Wilfred" by his mother. His 
 teachers, day school and Sunday school, called him one or 
 the other as suited their individual fancies. But his school- 
 mates and playfellows, knowing that he hated the name
 
 36 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 above all else on earth, gleefully hailed him as "Jedidah." 
 By the time he was ten he was "Jed" Winslow beyond hope 
 of recovery. Also it was settled locally that he was "queer" 
 not "cracked" or "lacking," which would have implied 
 that his brain was affected but just "queer," which meant 
 that his ways of thinking and acting were different from 
 those of Orham in general. 
 
 His father, Captain Thaddeus, died when Jed was fifteen, 
 just through the grammar school and ready to enter the 
 high. He did not enter; instead, the need of money being 
 pressing, he went to work in one of the local stores, selling 
 behind the counter. If his father had lived he would, 
 probably, have gone away after finishing high school and 
 perhaps, if by that time the mechanical ability which he 
 possessed had shown itself, he might even have gone to 
 some technical school or college. In that case Jed Win- 
 slow's career might have been very, very different. But 
 instead he went to 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 a clerk in the post office, nor as an assistant to the 
 local expressman. In desperation he began to learn the 
 carpenter's trade and, because he liked to handle tools, 
 did pretty well at it. But he continued to be "queer" and 
 his absent-minded dreaminess was in evidence even then. 
 
 "I snum / don't know what to make of him," declared 
 Mr. Abijah Mullett, who was the youth's "boss." "Never 
 know just what he's goin' to do or just what he's goin' 
 to say. I says to him yesterday: 'Jed,' says I, 'you do 
 pretty well with tools and wood, considerin' what little 
 experience you've had. Did Cap'n Thad teach you some 
 or did you pick it up yourself?' He never answered for 
 a minute or so, seemed to be way off dreamin' in the next
 
 "SHAVINGS" 37 
 
 county somewheres. Then he looked at me with them 
 big eyes of his and he drawled out : 'Comes natural to me, 
 Mr. Mullett, I guess/ he says. 'There seems to be a 
 sort of family feelin' between my head and a chunk of 
 wood.' Now what kind of an answer was that, I want 
 to know!" 
 
 Jed worked at carpentering for a number of years, some- 
 times going as far away as Ostable to obtain employment. 
 And then his mother was seized with the illness from 
 which, so she said, she never recovered. 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 events 
 Mrs. Winslow, whether she recovered or not, never walked 
 abroad again. She was "up and about," as they say in 
 Orham, and did some housework, after a fashion, but she 
 never again set foot across the granite doorstep of the 
 Winslow cottage. Probably the poor woman's mind was 
 slightly affected; it is charitable to hope that it was. It 
 seems the only reasonable excuse for the oddity of her 
 behavior during the last twenty years of her life, for her 
 growing querulousness and selfishness and for the exacting 
 slavery in which she kept her only son. 
 
 During those twenty years whatever ambition Jedidah 
 Edgar Wilfred may once have had was thoroughly crushed. 
 His mother would not hear of his leaving her to find better 
 work or to obtain promotion. She needed him, she wailed ; 
 he was her life, her all ; she should die if he left her. Some 
 hard-hearted townspeople, Captain Hunniwell among them, 
 disgustedly opined that, in view of such a result, Jed should 
 be forcibly kidnaped forthwith for the general better- 
 ment of the community. But Jed himself never rebelled. 
 He cheerfully gave up his youth and early middle age to 
 his mother and waited upon her, ran her errands, sat
 
 38 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 beside her practically every evening and read romance 
 after romance aloud for her benefit. And his "queerness" 
 developed, as under such circumstances it was bound to do. 
 
 Money had to be earned and, as the invalid would not 
 permit him to leave her to earn it, it was necessary to 
 find ways of earning it at home. Jed did odd jobs of 
 carpentering and cabinet making, went fishing sometimes, 
 worked in gardens between times, did almost anything, in 
 t'act, to bring in the needed dollars. And when he was 
 thirty-eight years old he made and sold his first "Cape 
 Cod Winslow windmill," the forerunner of tht thousands 
 to follow. That mill, made in some of his rare idle 
 moments and given to the child of a wealthy summer visi- 
 tor, made a hit. The child liked it and other children 
 wanted mills just like it. Then "grown-ups" among the 
 summer 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 merciful release, Captain Sam and the rest called it, 
 but to Jed it was a stunning shock. He had no one to take 
 care of now except himself and he did not know what to 
 do. He moped about like a deserted cat. Finally he de- 
 cided that he could not live in the old house where he 
 was born and had lived all his life. He expressed his 
 feelings concerning that house to his nearest friend, prac- 
 tically his sole confidant, Captain Sam. 
 
 "I can't somehow seem to stand it, Sam," he said, 
 solemnly. "I can't stay in that house alone any longer, 
 it's it's too sociable." 
 
 The captain, who had expected almost anything but that, 
 stared at him. 
 
 "Sociable !" he repeated. "You're sailin' stem first, Jed 
 Lonesome's what you mean, of course."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 39 
 
 Jed shook his head. 
 
 "No-o," he drawled, "I mean sociable. There's too 
 many boys in there, for one thing." 
 
 "Boys!" Captain Sam was beginning to be really 
 alarmed now. "Boys ! Say say, Jed Winslow, you come 
 along home to dinner with me. 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 empty stomach's 
 gone to your head and made it dizzy. Boys! Gracious 
 king! Come on home with me." 
 
 Jed smiled his slow smile. "I don't mean real boys, 
 Sam," he explained. "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 each fist; and 
 me when I was ten sittin' studyin' my lesson book in the cor- 
 ner; 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 as he said he was cal'latin' to send me. 
 Then ." 
 
 He paused and lapsed into one of his fits of musing. 
 His friend drew a breath of relief. 
 
 "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Well, I don't mind your meetin' 
 yourself. I thought 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 idea that is! I suppose you 
 mean that, bein' alone in that house where you'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 codded. Of all the people in Orham he,
 
 40 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 he prided himself, was the only one who thoroughly under- 
 stood Jed Winslow. And sometimes he did partially under- 
 stand him ; this was one of the times. 
 
 "Now now now," he said, hastily, "don't you get to 
 frettin' yourself about your not amountin' to anything and 
 all that. You've got a nice little trade of your own buildin' 
 up here. What more do you 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 you waste your 
 time goin' back twenty-five years and meetin' yourself for ? 
 Why don't you look ahead ten or fifteen and try to meet 
 yourself then? You may be a millionaire, a er wind- 
 mill trust or somethin' 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 in somebody to identify me." 
 
 Captain Sam laughed. "Well, anyhow," he said, "don't 
 talk any more foolishness about not livin' in your own 
 house. If I was you " 
 
 Mr. Winslow interrupted. "Sam," he said, "the way 
 to find out what you would do if you was me is to make 
 sure what you'd do and then do t'other thing, or some- 
 thin' worse." 
 
 "Oh, Jed, be reasonable." 
 
 Jed looked over his spectacles. "Sam," he drawled, "if 
 I was reasonable 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 in that. Later he added a sleeping 
 room a sort of loft and a little covered porch on the 
 side toward the sea. Here, in pleasant summer twilights 
 or on moonlight nights, he sat and smoked. He had a
 
 "SHAVINGS" 41 
 
 good many callers and but few real friends. Most of the 
 townspeople liked him, but almost all considered him a 
 joke, an oddity, a specimen to be pointed out to those of 
 the summer people who were looking for "types." A few, 
 like Mr. Gabriel Bearse, who distinctly did not understand 
 him and who found his solemn suggestions and pointed 
 repartee irritating at times, were inclined to refer to him 
 in these moments of irritation as "town crank." But they 
 did not really mean it when they said it. And some others, 
 like Leander Babbitt or Captain Hunniwell, came to ask 
 his advice on personal matters, although even they 
 patronized him just a little. He had various nicknames, 
 "Shavings" being the most popular. 
 
 His peculiar business, the making of wooden mills, toys 
 and weather vanes, had grown steadily. Now he shipped 
 many boxes of these to other seashore and mountain re- 
 sorts. He might have doubled his output had he chosen to 
 employ help or to enlarge his plant, but he would not do 
 so. He had rented the old Winslow house furnished once 
 to a summer tenant, but he never did so again, although he 
 had many opportunities. He lived alone in the addition to 
 the little workshop, cooking his own meals, making his own 
 bed, and sewing on his own buttons. 
 
 And on the day following that upon which Leander 
 Babbitt enrolled to 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 
 pleasant morning, the sun was rising over the notched 
 horizon of the tumbling ocean, the breeze was blowing, the 
 surf on the bar was frothing and roaring cheerily and 
 it was his birthday. The morning, the sunrise, the surf 
 and all the rest were pleasant to contemplate 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 the
 
 42 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 edge of the bluff the flag he had set there on the day when 
 the United States declared war against the Hun. He 
 hoisted it every fine morning and he took it in every night. 
 
 He stood for a moment, watching the red, white and 
 blue flapping bravely in the morning sunshine, then he went 
 back into his little kitchen at the rear of the workshop and 
 set about cooking his breakfast. The kitchen was about 
 as big as a good-sized packing box and Jed, standing over 
 the oilstove, could reach any shelf in sight without moving. 
 He cooked his oatmeal porridge, boiled his egg and then 
 sat down at the table in the next room his combined 
 living and dining-room and not very much bigger than the 
 kitchen to eat. When he had finished, he washed the 
 dishes, walked up to the post office for the mail and then, 
 entering the workshop, took up the paint brush and the 
 top sailor-man of the pile beside him and began work. 
 This, except on Sundays, was his usual morning routine. 
 It varied little, except that he occasionally sawed or 
 whittled instead of painted, or, less occasionally still, boxed 
 some of his wares for shipment. 
 
 During the forenoon he had some visitors. A group of 
 summer people from the hotel came in and, after pawing 
 over and displacing about half of the movable stock, bought 
 ten or fifteen dollars' worth and departed. Mr. Winslow 
 had the satisfaction of hearing them burst into a shout of 
 laughter as they emerged into the yard and the shrill voice 
 of one of the females in the party rose above the hilarity 
 with: "Isn't he the weirdest thing!" And an accompany- 
 ing male 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's forty-fifth birthday one has ac- 
 quired or should have acquired a certain measure of philo- 
 sophical resignation. 
 
 Other customers or lookers came and went. Maud
 
 "SHAVINGS" 43 
 
 Hunniwell, Captain Sam's daughter, dropped in on her 
 way to the post office. The captain was a widower and 
 Maud was his only child. She was, therefore, more than 
 the apple of his eye, she was a whole orchard of apples. 
 She was eighteen, pretty and vivacious, and her father 
 made a thorough job of spoiling her. Not that the spoiling 
 had injured her to any great extent, it had not as yet, but 
 that was Captain Sam's good luck. Maud was wearing a 
 new dress she had a new one every week or so and she 
 came into the windmill shop to show it. Of course she 
 would have denied that that was the reason for her coming, 
 but the statement stands, nevertheless. She and Jed were 
 great chums and had been since she could walk. She liked 
 him, took his part when she heard him criticized or made 
 fun of, and was always prettily confidential and friendly 
 when they were alone together. Of course there was a 
 touch of superiority and patronage 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 upturned box upon which her father had sat the 
 afternoon before. Her first remark, after "good mornings" 
 had been exchanged, was concerning the "Private" sign 
 ^n the inner side of the door. 
 
 "What in the world have you put that sign inside here 
 for?" she demanded. 
 
 Mr. Winslow explained, taking his own deliberate time 
 in making the explanation. Miss Hunniwell wrinkled her 
 dainty upturned nose and burst 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 when he sees it?" 
 
 Jed looked dreamily over his spectacles at the sign. "I 
 don't know," he drawled. "If I thought he'd go wherever
 
 44 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 that sign was I ain't sure but I'd tack it on the cover of 
 the well out in the yard yonder." 
 
 His fair visitor laughed again. "Why, Jed," she ex- 
 claimed. "You wouldn't want to drown him, would you ?" 
 
 Jed seemed to reflect. "No-o," he answered, slowly, 
 "don't know's I would not in my well, anyhow." 
 
 Miss Hunniwell declared that that was all nonsense. 
 "You wouldn't drown a kitten," she said. "I know that 
 because when Mrs. Nathaniel Rogers' old white cat brought 
 all her kittens over here the first of this summer you 
 wouldn't even put them out in the yard at night, to say 
 nothing of drowning them. All six and the mother cat 
 stayed here and fairly swarmed over you and ate you 
 out of house and home. Father said he believed they fed 
 at the first table and you were taking what was left. It 
 was a mercy the old cat decided to lead them back to the 
 Rogers' again or I don't know what might have become of 
 you by this time." 
 
 Jed seemed to be thinking; there was a reminiscent 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "The old cat didn't lead 'em back," he said. "Nathaniel 
 took 'em back. 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 glad to get rid of the whole family 
 and, as you and the cats seemed to be mutually happy to- 
 gether, he wasn't going to disturb you. He thought 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 say anything about it," he said. "I haven't afore. I 
 wouldn't interfere with Nate's sales for anything." 
 
 "Sales? Sales of what? Oh, you mean thing! Don't 
 be so provoking! Tell me the whole story this minute."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 45 
 
 Jed painted a moment or two. Then he said: "We-ell, 
 Maud, you see those kittens got to be kind of a nuisance. 
 They was cunnin' and cute and all that, but they was so 
 everlastin' lively and hungry that they didn't give me much 
 of a chance. I was only one, you see, and they had a 
 majority vote every time on who should have the bed and 
 the chairs and the table and one thing or 'nother. If I 
 sat down I sat on a cat. If I went to bed I laid down 
 on cats, and when I turned them out and turned in myself 
 they came and laid down on me. I slept under fur blankets 
 
 nost of June. And as for eatin' Well, every time I 
 
 Booked meat or fish they sat down in a circle and whooped 
 for some. When I took it off the fire and put it in a plate 
 on the table, I had to put another plate and a a plane or 
 somethin' heavy on top of it or they'd have had it sartin 
 sure. Then when I sat down to eat it they formed a 
 circle again like a reg'lar band and tuned up and hollered. 
 Lord a-mercy, how they did holler! And if one of the 
 kitten*} stopped, run out of wind or got a sore throat or 
 anything, the old cat would bite it to set it goin' again. 
 She wan't goin' to have any shirkin' in her orchestra. I 
 ate to music, as you might say, same as I've read they do 
 up to Boston restaurants. And about everything I did eat 
 was stufftd with cats' hairs. Seemed sometimes as if those 
 kittens was solid fur all the way through ; they never could 
 have shed all that hair from the outside. Somebody told 
 me that kittens never shed hair, 'twas only full grown cats 
 did that. I don't believe it. Nate Rogers' old maltee 
 never shed all that alone; allowin' her a half barrel, there 
 was all of another barrel spread around the 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 the middle of a story, began to whistle lugubriously and
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 to bend all his other energies to painting. Miss Hunniwell, 
 who had laughed until her eyes were misty, wiped them 
 with her handkerchief and commanded him to go on. 
 
 "Tell me the rest of it," she insisted. "How did you get 
 rid of them? How did Mr. Rogers come to take them 
 back?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Oh, why, you see, I went over to Nate's 
 three or four times and told him his cat and kittens were 
 here and I didn't feel right to deprive him of 'em any 
 longer. He said never mind, I could keep 'em long as I 
 wanted to. I said that was about as long as I had kept 
 'em. Then he said he didn't know's he cared about ever 
 havin' 'em again; said he and his wife had kind of lost 
 their taste for cats, seemed so. I well, I hinted that, 
 long as the tribe was at my house / wan't likely to have a 
 chance to taste much of anything, but it didn't seem to have 
 much effect Then " 
 
 "Yes, yes ; go on 1 go on !" 
 
 "Oh. . . . Then one day Nate he happened to be in 
 here come to borrow something some tool seems to me 
 'twas and the cats was climbin' round promiscuous same 
 as usual. And one of the summer women came in while 
 he was here, wanted a mill for her little niece or somethin'. 
 And she saw one of the animals and she dropped every- 
 thing else and sang out: 'Oh, what a beautiful V.itten! 
 What unusual coloring! May I see it?' Course she was 
 seein' it already, but I judged she meant could she handle 
 it, so I tried to haul the critter loose from my leg there 
 was generally one or more of 'em shinnin' over me some- 
 where. It squalled when I took hold of it and she says: 
 'Oh, it doesn't want to come, does it! It must have a 
 very affectionate disposition to be so attached to you. 
 Seemed to me 'twas attached by its claws more'n its dis- 
 position, but I pried it loose and handed it to her. Ther
 
 "SHAVINGS" 47 
 
 she says again, 'What unusual colorin'! Will you sell this 
 one to me ? I'll give you five dollar? for it.' " 
 
 He stopped again. Another reminder from Miss Hunni- 
 well was necessary 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 spoke up and said the kittens belonged to him 
 Then she saw another one that she hadn't seen afore and 
 she says : 'Oh, that one has more unusual colorin's even 
 than this. I never saw such color in a cat.' 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?" she cried. "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 he sell one for five dollars. He 
 said no, he couldn't think of it" 
 
 "Why, the greedy old thing f 
 
 "And so he and she had it back and forth and finally 
 they struck a bargain at seven dollars for the one that 
 looked most like a crazy quilt.'' 
 
 "Seven dollars for a cat? What color was it, for good- 
 ness' sake?" 
 
 "Oh, all kinds, seemed so. Black and white and maltee 
 and blue and red and green -" 
 
 "Green! What are you talking about? Who ever saw 
 a green cat?" 
 
 " r /ftis woman saw one that was part green and she
 
 48 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 bought it. Then she said she'd take it right along in her 
 car. Said she had a friend that was as loony about cats 
 as she was and she was goin' to fetch her right down the 
 very next day. And a couple of hours after she'd gone 
 Nate and his boy came back with a clothes basket with a 
 board over the top and loaded in the balance of the family 
 and went off with 'em. I ain't seen a hair of 'em since 
 no, I won'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-11, I told Nate he might maybe leave one of the 
 kittens, so's I could have a er souvenir of the visit, but 
 he wouldn't do it. Said those kittens was rare and er 
 precious, or words to that effect. He didn't intend to let 
 another go as cheap as he had that one." 
 
 "Oh. ... I see. I remember now; I heard some one 
 saying something, early in July, about the sign on the 
 Rogers' front fence. 'Rare Cats for Sale' they said it was. 
 I think. Of course, I never thought of those kittens. He 
 must have sold them all, for the sign isn't there now." 
 
 Jed whistled a few bars. "I don't hardly think he's sold 
 'em," he said. "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 sell quickly 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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 49 
 
 and over everything most of the time. Four of 'em had 
 got in here early afore I came downstairs that day and 
 had been playin' hide and hoot amongst my paint pots. 
 They was green in spots, sure enough, but I had 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 began to wear off her 'rare' kitten," she said. 
 
 Jed smiled slightly. "Nathan saw it," he said. "I 
 understood he had to take back the kitten and give up the 
 seven dollars. He don'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 
 general cht concerning Leander Babbitt's voluntary en- 
 listment, t^ subject which all Orham had discussed since 
 the previous afternoon, she had a fresh bit of news. The 
 government had leased a large section of land along the 
 bay at East Harniss, the next village to Orham and seven 
 or eight miles distant, and there was to be a military avia- 
 tion camp there. 
 
 "Oh, it's true !" she declared, emphatically. "Father has 
 known that the Army people have been thinking of it for 
 some time, but it was really decided and the leases signed 
 only last Saturday. They will begin building the barracks 
 aitid the buildings the oh, what do they call those big 
 .Jieds they keep the aeroplanes in?" 
 
 "The hangars," said Winslow, promptly. 
 
 "Yes, that's it. They will begin building those right 
 ,iway." She paused and looked at him curiously. "How 
 did you know they called them hangars, Jed ?" she asked. 
 
 "Eh ? . . . Oh, I've read about 'em in the newspapers,
 
 50 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 that's all. . . .H-u-u-m. . . .So we'll have aeroplanes flyin* 
 around here 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 uni- 
 form and all sorts. What fun! I'm just crazy about 
 uniforms !" 
 
 Her eyes snapped. Jed, in his quiet way, seemed ex- 
 cited, too. He was gazing absently out of the window as 
 if he saw, in fancy, a procession of aircraft flying over 
 Orham flats. 
 
 "They'll be flyin' up out there," he said, musingly. 
 "And I'll see 'em/ 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 much good at the job," he drawled. 
 
 His visitor burst into another laugh. He looked at her 
 over his glasses. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing; I I was just thinking of you in a uniform, 
 that's all." 
 
 Jed smiled his slow, fleeting smile. 
 
 "I guess likely I would be pretty funny," he admitted. 
 "Any Germans I met would probably die laughin' and that 
 might help along some." 
 
 But after Miss Hunniwell had gone he sat for some 
 minutes gazing out of the window, the wistful, dreamy 
 look on his lean, homely face. Then he sighed, and re- 
 sumed his painting. 
 
 That afternoon, about half past five, he was still at his 
 task when, hearing the doorbell ring, he rose and went into 
 the front shop. To his astonishment the shop was empty. 
 He looked about for the expected customer or caller, 
 whoever he or she might be, and saw no one. He stepped
 
 'SHAVINGS" 51 
 
 to the window and looked out, but there was no one on 
 the steps or in the yard. He made up his mind that 
 he must have dreamed of the bell-ringing and was turning 
 back to the inner 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 
 visitor then. That is, he saw a tumbled shock of curls and 
 a pair of big round 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. They were parts of a little girl, and the little girl 
 made him a demure little courtesy. 
 
 "How do you do?" she said. 
 
 Jed regarded her in silence for a moment. Then, "Why, 
 I'm fair to middlin' smart just at present," he drawled. 
 "How do you find yourself 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 stomach yesterday, 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 whole bananas and the choc'late creams, but / think it 
 was the fried potatoes. I was sick twice no, three times. 
 Please, I asked you something. Are you the windmill 
 man?" 
 
 Jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over 
 once more. She was a pretty little thing, although just 
 at this time it is doubtful if any of her family or those
 
 52 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 closely associated with her would have admitted it. Her 
 face was not too clean, her frock was soiled and mussed, 
 her curls had been blown into a tangle and there were 
 smooches, Jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on 
 her hands, around her mouth and -even across her small 
 nose. She had a doll, its raiment in about the same con- 
 dition as her own, tucked under 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?" he inquired. 
 
 The small visitor's answer was given with dignity. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "Will you please tell me if you are the 
 windmill man?" 
 
 Jed accepted the snub with outward humility and inward 
 appreciation. 
 
 "Why, yes," he admitted; "I presume likely I'm the 
 wind-nil! man. Is there anything I can do for you this 
 evenin'?" 
 
 Apparently there was, for the child, untucking the doll 
 from beneath her right arm and tucking it under the left, 
 pointed her right hand at a wooden weather-vane in the 
 shape of a sperm whale and 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 like that?" 
 
 "Eh? Make the wind blow how?" 
 
 "I mean does it make the wind blow different ways, 
 no'theast by no'th and cantin' 'round to the sou-east and 
 and those ways? Captain Hedge has got a fish up on his
 
 "SHAVINGS" 53 
 
 barn that used to do that, but now it won't 'cause he 
 cal'lates it's rusted fast. He saia he guessed he would 
 have to be getting a new one. When I saw the fishes out 
 in your yard I thought about it and I thought I would 
 come in and see if you had the right kind. Is this one 
 a a gunfish?" 
 
 "A which fish?" 
 
 "A gunfish. No, that isn't it. A a swordfish, that's it. 
 Captain Hedge's is a swordfish." 
 
 "We-11, 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 we looked. 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 make the wind go right." 
 
 "We-11, I guess likely I could guarantee that fish would 
 go 'most any way the wind did, unless it should take a 
 notion to blow straight up and down, which don't happen 
 often. So you know Cap'n Hedge, do you? Relation 
 of his, are you? Visitin' there?" 
 
 "No. Mamma and I are boarding at Mrs. Smalley's, 
 but I go over to call on Captain Hedge 'most every day." 
 
 "Sho! Want to know! Well, that's nice and sociable. 
 So you're boardin' at Luretta Smalley's. My! you're con- 
 sider'ble ways from home, ain't you? Is your mamma 
 with you?" 
 
 For the first time the youthful caller's poise seemed a 
 trifle shaken. 
 
 "No-o . . . no," she stammered, and added, hastily: 
 "How much is this fish, please?" 
 
 "I generally sell that sort of fish for about two dollars." 
 He looked out of the window, hummed a tune, and then 
 added: "Let's see, what did you say your name was?"
 
 54 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "I didn't, but it's Barbara Armstrong. How much did 
 you say the fish was?" 
 
 "Eh? ... Oh, two dollars." 
 
 Miss Armstrong looked very much disappointed. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she sighed. "I didn't know it would be as 
 much as that. I I'm 'fraid I can't get it." 
 
 "So? That's too bad. What was you cal'latin' to do 
 with it, if you did get it?" 
 
 "I was going to give it to Captain Hedge. He misses 
 his, now that it's rusted so fast that it won't go. But I 
 can't get it. I haven't got but fourteen cents, ten that 
 Mamma gave me this morning for being a good girl and 
 taking my medicine nice yesterday, and four that Mrs. 
 Smalley gave me for getting the eggs last week. And two 
 dollars is ever so much more than fourteen cents, isn't it?" 
 
 "Hum. . . . Tis a little more, that's right. It's con- 
 sidered more 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 :s. I'd pay fourteen 
 cents." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "We-e-11," he drawled, gravely, 
 "I'm afraid I couldn't hardly knock off all that that comes 
 to. But," taking another and much smaller vane from a 
 shelf, "there's an article, not quite so big, that I usually get 
 fifty cents for. What do you think 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 just as good as the big one?" 
 
 "Tell wind? Hum! . . . Don't know's I ever heard it 
 put just that way afore. But a clock tells time, so I sup-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 55 
 
 pose there's no reason why a vane shouldn't tell wind. 
 Yes, I guess 'twill tell wind all right." 
 
 "Then I think it might do." She seemed a little doubtful. 
 "Only," she added, "fifty cents is lots more than fourteen, 
 late it?" 
 
 Mr. Winslow admitted that it was. "But I tell you," 
 he said, after another period of reflection, "seein' as it's 
 you I'll make a proposal to you. Cap'n Eri Hedge is a 
 pretty good friend of mine, same as he is of yours. Sup- 
 pose you and I go in partners. You put in 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' it 
 to 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 you want me to do?" 
 
 "Why, consider the plan. You know what 'consider' 
 means, don't you?" 
 
 "I know a Mother Goose with it in. That one about 
 the piper and the 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 halves with 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 his small patron. She gravely produced a miniature
 
 56 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 velvet purse with the remnants of some bead fringe hanging 
 to its lower edge and laid a 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 bracket lamps. 
 Returning, he found the coins laid in a row and Miss Arm- 
 strong regarding them somewhat soberly. 
 
 "There isn't any more than fourteen, is there ?" she asked. 
 "I mean 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 left over I maybe I could buy something to- 
 morrow at the candy store. Not to-day, 'cause I told 
 Mamma I wouldn't to-day 'cause I was sick at my stomach 
 yesterday but to-morrow I could." 
 
 Mr. Winslow carefully counted the coins and then, 
 spreading them out on his big palm, showed them to her. 
 
 "There!" he said. "Now you've given me the fourteen 
 cents. I've got '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 in your pocket. Now take your fish 
 bundle under your arm. There! now everything's settled. 
 You've got the fish, haven't you? Sartin'. Yes, and I'v 
 ^>een 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 me have the money right in my 
 hand. It's all settled; think it over and see if it ain't. 
 You've got the fish and I've had the fourteen cents. Now 
 run right along home and don't get lost. Good-night."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 57 
 
 He led her gently to the door and closed it behind her. 
 Then, smiling and shaking his head, he returned to the 
 inner shop, where he lit the lamps and sat down for another 
 bit of painting before supper. But that bit was destined 
 not to be done that night. He had scarcely picked up his 
 brush before the doorbell rang once more. Returning to 
 the outer room, he found his recent visitor, the swordfish 
 under one arm and the doll under the other, standing in 
 the aisle between the stacked mills and vanes and looking, 
 so it seemed to him, considerably perturbed. 
 
 "Well, well!" he exclaimed. "Back again so soon? 
 What's the matter ; 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 
 little girls 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, may be. It will be darker in an hour or so. But 
 you think it's too dark for little girls already, eh?" 
 
 She nodded. "I don't think Mamma would like me to 
 be out when it's so 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 be- 
 cause you was afraid, eh ?" 
 
 She swallowed hard and edged a little nearer to him. 
 
 "No-o," she declared, stoutly, "I I wasn't afraid, not
 
 58 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 very; but but I thought the the swordfish was pretty 
 heavy to carry all alone and and so " 
 
 Jed laughed aloud, something that he rarely did. 
 
 "Good for you, sis!" he exclaimed. "Now you just 
 wait until I get my 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 name is Barbara."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE Smalley residence, where Mrs. Luretta Smalley, 
 relict of the late Zenas T., accommodated a fevt 
 "paying guests," was nearly a mile 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 nave thor- 
 oughly recovered from her misgivings concerning the dark 
 in reality it was scarcely dusk and her doubts concern^ 
 ing her ability to carry the "heavy" swordfish without help. 
 At all events she insisted upon carrying it alone, telling hei 
 companion that she thought perhaps he had better not 
 touch it as it was so very, very brittle and might get broken, 
 and consoling him by offering to permit him to carry 
 Petunia, which fragrant appellation, it appeared, was the 
 name of the doll. 
 
 "I named her Petunia after a flower," she explained 
 "I think she looks like a flower, don't you?" 
 
 If she did it was a wilted one. However, Mis^ Arm- 
 strong did not wait for comment on the part of her escort, 
 but chatted straight on. Jed learned that her mother's 
 name was Mrs. Ruth Phillips Armstrong. "It used to be 
 Mrs. Seymour Armstrong, but it isn't now, because Papa's 
 name was Doctor Seymour Armstrong and ha died, you 
 know." And they lived in a central Connecticut city, but 
 perhaps they weren't going to live there any more because 
 Mamma had sold the house and didn't know exactly what 
 to do. And they had been in Orham ever since before the
 
 60 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Fourth of July, and they liked it ever so much, it was so 
 quaint and and "franteek" 
 
 Jed interrupted here. "So quaint and what?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Franteek." Miss Barbara herself seemed a little doubt- 
 ful of the word. At any rate Mamma said it was some- 
 thing like that, and it meant they liked it anyway. So 
 Mr. Winslow was left to ponder whether "antique* or 
 "unique" was intended and to follow his train of thought 
 wherever it chanced to lead him, while the child prattled 
 on. They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jed 
 came out of his walking trance to hear her say: 
 
 "Anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and 
 the coffee and they are dreadful. Mamma thinks it's made 
 of chickenry the coffee, I mean." 
 
 At the gate Jed's "queerness," or shyness, came upon 
 him. The idea of meeting Mrs. Armstrong or even the 
 members of the Smalley family he shrank from. Barbara 
 invited him to come in, but he refused even 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 you very much for helping me carry the fish home. 
 I'm coming to see you again some day." 
 
 She scampered up the walk. Jed, waiting in the shadow 
 of the lilac bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch 
 of the door, saw the door open and the child caught up in 
 the arms of a woman, who cried : "Oh, Babbie, dear, where 
 have you been? Mamma was so frightened!" 
 
 He smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more 
 than once that evening. He was very fond of children and 
 their society did not embarrass or annoy him as did the 
 company of most grown-ups strangers, that is. He re-
 
 "SHAVINGS 6l 
 
 membered portions of Miss Barbara's conversation and 
 determined to repeat them to Captain Sam Hunniwell, the 
 next time the latter called. 
 
 And that next time was the following forenoon. Captain 
 Sam, on the way to his office at the bank, stopped his car 
 at the edge of the sidewalk and came into the shop. Jed, 
 having finished painting wooden sailors for the present, 
 was boxing an assorted collection of mills and vanes to 
 be sent South, for a certain demand for "Winslow mills" 
 was developing at the winter as well as the summer resorts. 
 It was far from winter yet, but this purchaser was fore- 
 handed. 
 
 "Hello, Jed," hailed the captain, "busy as usual. You've 
 got the busy bee a mile astern so far as real hustlin' is 
 concerned." 
 
 Jed took a nail from the half dozen held between his 
 lips and applied its point to the box top. His sentences 
 for the next few minutes were mumbled between nails and 
 punctuated with blows of the hammer. 
 
 "The busy bee," he mumbled, "can sting other folks. He 
 don't get stung much himself. Collectin' honey's easier, 1 
 cal'late, than collectin' money." 
 
 Captain Sam grunted. "Are you stung again?" he de- 
 manded. "Who did it this time ?" 
 
 Jed pointed with the hammer to an envelope lying on a 
 pile of wooden crows. The captain took up the envelope 
 and inspected its contents. 
 
 ' 'We regret to inform you/ he read aloud, 'that the Funny Nov 
 elty Company of this town went into bankruptcy a month ago. 
 
 " 'JOHN KOLWAY.' " 
 
 "Humph !" he sniffed. "That's short and sweet. Owed 
 you somethin', I presume likely ?"
 
 62 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 off the three cents, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "No-o." 
 
 "You wouldn't? Why not?" 
 
 Jed pried a crookedly driven nail out again and substi 
 tuted a fresh one. 
 
 "Can't afford to," he drawled. "That's the part I'll prob- 
 ably get." 
 
 "Guess you're right. Who's this John Holway?" 
 
 "Eh. . . . Why, when he ordered the mills of me last 
 summer he was president of the Funny Novelty Company 
 up there to Manchester." 
 
 "Good Lord ! Well- I admire his nerve. How did yott 
 oome to sell these e^ 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 whether they was good for anything or good for 
 nothin'? Just sailed in and hurried off the stuff, I pre- 
 sume likely?" 
 
 Jed nodded. "Why why, yes, of course," he said. 
 "You see, they said they wanted it right away." 
 
 His friend groaned. "Gracious king !" he exclaimed. "How 
 many times have I told you to let me look up credits for 
 you when you get 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 Funny friend. . . . But, say," 
 he added, "I can't stop but a minute, and I ran in to ask 
 you if you'd changed your mind about rentin' the old house 
 here. If you have, I believe I've got a good tenant for 
 YOU."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 63 
 
 Jed looked troubled. He laid down the hammer and 
 took the last nail from his mouth. 
 
 "Now now, Sam," he began, "you know " 
 
 "Oh, I know you've set your thick head dead against 
 rentin' it at all, but that's silly, as I've told you a thousand 
 times. The house 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 it yourself instead of campin' 
 out in this shack here." 
 
 Jed sat down on the box he had just nailed and, taking 
 one long leg between his big hands, pulled its knee up until 
 he could have rested his chin upon it without much in- 
 convenience. 
 
 "I know, Sam," he drawled gravely, "but that's the 
 trouble I ain't been anybody but me for forty-five years." 
 
 The captain smiled, in spite of his impatience. "And 
 you won't be anybody else for the next fortv-five," he said, 
 "I know that. But all the same, bein" a practical, more or 
 less sane man myself, it makes me nervous to see a nice, 
 attractive, comfortable little house standin' idle while the 
 feller that owns it eats and sleeps in a two-by-four saw- 
 mill, so to speak. And, not only that, but won't let any- 
 body else live in the house, either. I call that a dog in the 
 manger business, and crazy besides." 
 
 The big foot at the end of the long leg swung slowly 
 back and forth. 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 day- 
 dreamin' about now, eh?" 
 
 Jed turned and gazed over his spectacles. 
 
 "I was thinkin'," he observed, "that most likely that dog 
 himself was crazy. If he wasn't he wouldn't have got into
 
 64 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 the manger. I never 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 I found 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 show some sense. Come on, Jed. These people I've 
 got in mind are nice people. They want to find a little 
 house and they've come to me at the bank for advice abou 
 findin' it. It's a chance for you, a real chance." 
 
 Jed rocked back and forth. He looked genuinely wor- 
 ried. 
 
 "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 and more hopeful. 
 
 "Oh, then they won't want it," he declared. "City folks 
 want to hire houses in the spring, not along as late in the 
 summer as this."' 
 
 "These people do. They're thinkin' of livin' here in 
 Orham all the year round. It's a first-rate chance for you, 
 Jed. Course, I know you don't really need the money, 
 perhaps, but well, to be real honest, I warn these folks 
 to stay in Orham they're the kind of folks the town needs 
 and I want 'em contented. I think they would be con-
 
 "SHAVINGS" 65 
 
 tented in your house. You let those Davidsons from 
 Chicago have the place that summer, but you've never let 
 anybody so much as consider it since. What's the real 
 reason? You've told me as much as a dozen, but I'll bet 
 anything you've never told me the real one. 'Twas some- 
 thin' the Davidsons did you didn't like but what ?" 
 
 Jed's rocking back and forth on the box became almost 
 energetic and his troubled expression more than ever ap- 
 parent. 
 
 "Now now, Sam," he begged, "I've told you all about 
 that ever and ever 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 
 Captain Hunniwell. 
 
 "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 on the posts and the fence. They squeaked 
 and and sometimes they squealed awful. And he didn't 
 like it." 
 
 "Who didn't?" 
 
 "Colonel Davidson. He said they'd got to stop makin' 
 that noise and 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 one mornin' and Colonel Davidson he came in here 
 and and I remembered I hadn't oiled 'em for three davs.
 
 66 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 And I I said how horrible the squealin* 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 mills wasn't goin' at all. You see, 'twas his oldest 
 daughter takin' her singin' lessons in the house with the 
 window open." 
 
 Captain Sam put back his head and shouted. Jed looked 
 sadly at the floor. When the captain could speak he asked : 
 
 "And you mean to tell me that was the reason you 
 wouldn't let the house again?" 
 
 "Er why, yes." 
 
 "I know better. You didn't have any row with the 
 Davidsons. You couldn't row with anybody, anyhow; and 
 besides the Colonel himself told me they would have taken 
 the house the very next summer but you wouldn't rent it 
 to 'em. And you mean to say that yarn you've just spun 
 was the reason ?" 
 
 "Why yes." 
 
 "Rubbish! You've told me a dozen reasons afore, but 
 I'm bound to say this is the most foolish yet. All right, 
 keep the real reason to yourself, then. But I tell you what 
 I'm goin' to do to get even with you: I'm goin' to send 
 these folks down to look at your house and 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 struck the floor with a crash. He made a frantic 
 clutch at his friend's arm. 
 
 "Oh, now, Sam," he cried, in horror, "don't do that! 
 Don't talk sol 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 bs
 
 "SHAVINGS' 1 67 
 
 comin' 'most any time now. And if you have any sense 
 you'll let 'em the house. So long!" 
 
 He drove away in his little car. Jed Winslow, left 
 standing in the shop doorway, staring after him, groaned 
 in anxious foreboding. 
 
 He groaned a good many times during the next few 
 hours. Each time the bell rang announcing the arrival of 
 a visitor he rose to answer it perfectly sure that here were 
 the would-be tenants whom his friend, in the mistaken 
 kindness of his heart, was sending to him. Not that he 
 had the slightest idea of renting his old home, but he 
 dreaded the ordeal of refusing. In fact he was not sure 
 that he could refuse, not sure that he could invent a 
 believable excuse for doing so. Another person would not 
 have sought excuses, would have declared simply that the 
 property was not for rent, but Jed Winslow was not that 
 other person; he was himself, and ordinary methods of 
 procedure were not his. 
 
 Two or three groups of customers came in, purchased 
 and departed. Captain Jerry Burgess dropped in to bring 
 the Winslow mail, which in this case consisted of an order, 
 a bill and a circular setting forth the transcendent healing 
 qualities of African Balm, the Foe of Rheumatism. Mr. 
 Bearse happened in to discuss the great news of the pro- 
 posed aviation camp and to tell with gusto and detail how 
 Phineas Babbitt had met Captain Hunniwell "right square 
 in front of the bank" and had not spoken to him. "No, sir, 
 never said a word to 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' to like soldierin' fust- 
 rate, and Mrs. Sarah Mary Babbitt she told Melissa 
 Busteed that her husband's language when he read that was 
 somethin r sinful. She said she never was more thankful 
 that they had lightnin* rods on the roof, 'cause such talk as 
 fhat was enough to fetch down fire from heaven."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT was nearly noon when Jed, entering the front shop in 
 answer to the bell, found there the couple the sight & 
 which caused his heart to sink. Here they were, thf 
 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 be- 
 ing 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 remem- 
 bered 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, h^d sent them to him. "Oh. Lord! Oh, Lord!" 
 thought Jed, although what lie said was : "Good morninV 
 
 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 an- 
 
 68
 
 "SHAVINGS" 69 
 
 nounced, 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-
 
 ;o "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Her husband trotted Liter her. The owner of the property, 
 gazing pathetically through the window, saw them wander- 
 ing 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' 5
 
 "SHAVINGS" 71 
 
 "Where is it; lost?" 
 
 The key was usually lost, that is to say, Jed was accus- 
 tomed 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 gentle- 
 man 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, erer that's it." 
 
 Mr. Powless breathed deeply. "Well, I'll be damned F 
 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
 
 72 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 previ- 
 ous 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 con- 
 cerning 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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 73 
 
 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.
 
 74 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 die one '. //as 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 
 01 tiis creations. At first his replies were brief and mono- 
 syllabic, out gradually they oecame more lengthy, until, 
 without being aware of it, he was carrying on his share of 
 a real conversation. Of course, ne aesitated and paused 
 and drawled, out tie 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, jjler mother showed such a 
 genuine interest in his work and vas so pleasant and quiet 
 and friendly, was, in short, such a marked contrast to Mrs. 
 George Powless, that he found himself actually oeginning 
 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 75 
 
 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 ex- 
 claimed, "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 de- 
 clared. "Besides, it ain't healthy to work too long at 
 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
 
 76 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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? . . c 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 sensa- 
 tion 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 
 \ey to that house had been lost.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 77 
 
 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 with- 
 draw. He hastened to disclaim any intention of with- 
 drawal. 
 
 "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. Win- 
 slow ?" 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
 
 78 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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-11, '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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 79 
 
 white, woven on the hand looms of our great-grandmothers. 
 Mrs. Armstrong was enthusiastic. 
 
 "It is like a miniature museum of antiques/' she de- 
 clared. "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 iront 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 work- 
 shop. "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, apolo-
 
 8o "SHAVINGS" 
 
 getically, "and I T 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. 1 ..." 
 
 He lapsed into silence, his sentence only begun. Mrs. 
 Armstrong, locking up, found him gazing at her with the 
 absent, far-off look that his closest associates knew so 
 well. She had not met it oefore 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 cnild 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 re 
 mark. 
 
 "You have let others occupy this house then?" she 
 asked.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 81 
 
 "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'Iate '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 se-emed to cal'Iate '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.
 
 82 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 1 should like it better than 
 living elsewhere," with, so it seemed to him, a little shud- 
 der. "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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 83 
 
 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 under- 
 stand. 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 dec'ared; 
 "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
 
 SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 des- 
 peration. 
 
 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."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 85 
 
 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 dam- 
 son; she makes so many mistakes." 
 
 They heard the "rough diamond" returning. He seemed 
 to be in a hurry. When he reentered 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 for* 
 got 'em, and they've come back. Whatll I do now?** 
 
 "But who who has come back ?"
 
 86 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 per- 
 sons," 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 him- 
 self up. 
 
 "Because," he declared, "I've rented it furnished to thit 
 lady here. And, that bein' the case, it ain't mine just now
 
 'SHAVINGS" 87 
 
 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. Winslowl" 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. "]ed, where are you?" 
 
 Mr. Winslow raised his head. "Eh?" he queried. "That's 
 Sam holierin', ain't it?" 
 
 It was Captain Hunniwell and a moment later he entered 
 the little sitting-room. When he saw who his friend's com- 
 panions 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 Harniss- 
 port and they're goin' to build a house of their own there/' 
 
 "They are? They are? Then then what did that
 
 88 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 1" 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. 
 
 Ted rubbed his chin. 
 
 "I would be if I was referrin' to him," he drawled, "but 
 I judge he's her second husband."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OF course Mrs. Armstrong still insisted that, know- 
 ing, as she did, Mr. Winslow's prejudice against 
 occupying the position of landlord, she could not 
 think of accepting his offer. "Of course I shall not," she 
 declared. "I am flattered to know that you consider Bar- 
 bara and me preferable to Mr. and Mrs. Powless ; but even 
 there you may be mistaken, and, beside, why should you 
 feel you must endure the lesser evil. If I were in your 
 place I shouldn't endure any evil at all. I should keep the 
 house closed and empty, just as you 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 interfere with him, Mrs. Armstrong, for the 
 land sakes. He's showed the first streak of common sense 
 about that house that he's showed since 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 you for 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, will you?" 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 be mine 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 ; I can't, don't you see ?"
 
 90 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Captain Sam grinned. "Fur's that goes," he suggested, 
 "I don't see's you've got to worry, Jed. You don't need to 
 sell it, to her or anybody else, unless you want to." 
 
 But Jed looked dubious. "I suppose Jonah cal'lated he 
 didn't need to be swallowed," he mused. "You take it, 
 ma'am, for a month, as a favor to me." 
 
 "But how can I like this ? We haven't even settled the 
 question of rent. 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," he said. "It takes the seven wise men of Greece 
 to understand him most of the time. You leave it to me, 
 Mrs. Armstrong. He and I will talk ic over together and 
 then you and he can talk to-morrow. But I guess likely 
 you'll have the house, if you want it; Jed doesn't go back 
 on his word. I always say that for you, don't I, old saw- 
 dust?" turning to the gentleman thus nicknamed. 
 
 Jed, humming a mournful hymn, was apparently miles 
 away in dreamland. Yet he returned to earth long enough to 
 indulge in a mild bit of repartee. "You say 'most every- 
 thing for me, Sam," he drawled, "except when I talk in my 
 sleep." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara left a moment later, the 
 lady saying that 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.**
 
 'SHAVINGS" 91 
 
 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's reflection, "but she can't talk, you know, and so 
 she has to hope twice 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 a chuckle of appreciation over the "humdinger," began 
 to tell his friend what little he had learned concerning the 
 Armstrongs. This was, of course, merely what Mrs. Arm- 
 strong herself had told him and amounted to this: She 
 was a widow whose husband had been a physician in 
 Middleford, Connecticut. His name was Seymour Arm- 
 strong and he had now been dead four years. Mrs. 
 Armstrong and Barbara, the latter an only child, had con- 
 tinued to occupy the house at Middleford, but recently the 
 lady had come to feel that she could not afford to live 
 there longer, but must find some less expensive quarters. 
 
 "She didn't say so," volunteered Captain Sam, "but I 
 judge she lost a good deal of her money, bad investments 
 or somethin' like that. If there's any bad investment any- 
 wheres in the neighborhood you can 'most generally trust a 
 widow to hunt it up and put her insurance money into it. 
 Anyhow, 'twas somethin' like that, for after livin' there 
 a spell, just as she did when her husband was alive, she 
 all at once decides to up anchor and find some cheaper 
 moorin's. First off, though, she decided to spend the sum- 
 mer in a cool place and some friend, somebody with good, 
 sound judgment, suggests Orham. So she lets her own 
 place in Middleford, comes to Orham, falls in love with 
 the place same as any sensible person would naturally, of 
 course and, havin' spent 'most three months here, decides 
 she wants to spend nine more anyhow, She comes to the
 
 92 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 bank to cash a check, 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 might be just the thing, and " 
 
 He paused to bite the end from a cigar. His friend 
 finished the sentence for him. 
 
 "And then," he said, "you, knowin' that I didn't want to 
 let this house 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 house and, 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 at it. But, afore I could do it, the 
 Almighty sent her on His own hook. Which proves," he 
 added, with a grin, "that my judgment has pretty good 
 backin' sometimes." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "Careful, Sam," he drawled, "care- 
 ful. The Kaiser'll be gettin' jealous of you if you don't 
 look out. But what," he inquired, "made her and the little 
 girl move out of Middleford, or wherever 'twas they lived? 
 ihey could have found cheaper quarters there, couldn't 
 they? Course I ain't never been there, but seems as if 
 they could." 
 
 "Sartin they could, but the fact of their movin' is what 
 makes me pretty sure the widow's investments had turned 
 sour. It's a plaguey sight easier to begin to cut down and 
 live economical in a place where nobody knows you than 
 'tis in one where everybody has known you for years. See 
 that, don't you?" 
 
 Jed whistled sadly b r eaking off in the middle of a bar 
 to reply that he didn't know as he did. 
 
 "I've never cut up, so cuttin' down don't worry me much," 
 he observed. "But I presume likely you're right, Sam; 
 you generally are." He whistled a moment longer his 
 gaze apparently fixed upon a point in the middle of the
 
 "SHAVINGS" 93 
 
 white plastered ceiling. Then he said, dreamily: "Well, 
 anyhow, 'twon't be but a month. They'll go somewheres 
 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. Mother used to say so, and she'd 
 known me longer than anybody." 
 
 And so, in this curious fashion, did tenants come to the 
 old Winslow house. They moved in on the following Mon- 
 day. Jed saw the wagon with the trunks backing up to 
 the door and he signed. Then he went over to help carry 
 the trunks into the house. 
 
 For the first week he found the situation rather uncom- 
 fortable; not as uncomfortable as he had feared, but a 
 trifle embarrassing, nevertheless. His new neighbors were 
 not too neighborly; they did not do what he would have 
 termed "pester" him by running in and out of the shop at 
 all hours, nor did they continually ask favors. On the 
 other hand they did not, like his former tenants, the David- 
 sons, treat him as if he were some sort of odd wooden 
 image, like one of his own weather vanes, a creature without 
 feelings, to be displayed and "shown off" when it pleased 
 them and ignored when it did not. Mrs. Armstrong was 
 always quietly cheerful and friendly when they met in the 
 yard or about the premises, but she neither intruded nor 
 patronized. Jed's first impression of her, a favorable one, 
 vas strengthened daily. 
 
 '! like her first-rate," he told Captain Sam. "She ain't 
 too folksy and she ain't too standoffish. Why, honest truth, 
 Sam/' he added, ingenuously, "she treats me just the same 
 as il '] was like the common run of folks."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 The captain snorted. "Gracious king! Do stop runnhV 
 yourself down," he commanded. "Suppose you are a little 
 mite er different from 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 v t there wouldn't be so many folks interested in it." 
 
 At first he missed the freedom to which he had accus- 
 tomed himself during his years of solitude, the liberty of 
 preparing for bed with the doors and windows toward the 
 sea wide open and the shades not drawn; of strolling out 
 to the well at unearthly hours of the early morning singing 
 at the top of his lungs; of washing face and hands in a 
 tin basin on a bench by that well curb instead of within 
 doors. There were some necessary concessions to conven- 
 tion to which his attention was called by Captain Hunniwell, 
 who took it upon himself to act as a sort of social mentor. 
 
 "Do you always wash outdoors there ?" asked the captain, 
 after watching 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 and when 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 ex- 
 claimed. "Why, I never thought about her, Sam. I de- 
 clare I never did. I I'll fetch the wash basin inside this 
 very minute." 
 
 And he did. The inconvenience attached to the break- 
 ing off of a summer-time habit of years troubled him not 
 half as .much as the fear that he might have offended a
 
 "SHAVINGS" 95 
 
 fellow creature's sensibilities. Jed Winslow was far too 
 sensitive himself and his own feelings had been hurt too 
 many times to make hurting those of another a small offense 
 in his eyes. 
 
 But these were minor inconveniences attached to his new 
 position as landlord. There were recompenses. At work 
 in his shop he could see through the window the white-clad, 
 graceful figure of Mrs. Armstrong moving about the yard, 
 sitting with Barbara on the bench by the edge of the bluff, 
 or writing a letter at a table she had taken out under the 
 shadow of the silver-leaf tree. Gradually Jed came to 
 enjoy seeing her there, to see the windows of the old house 
 open, to hear voices once more on that side of the shop, 
 and to catch glimpses of Babbie dancing in and out over 
 the shining mica slab at the door. 
 
 He liked the child when he first met her, but he had 
 been a little fearful that, as a neighbor, she might trouble 
 him by running in and out of the shop, interfering with his 
 privacy and his work or making a small nuisance of herself 
 when he was waiting on customers. But she did none of 
 these things, in fact she did not come into the shop at all 
 and, after the first week had passed, he began to wonder 
 why. Late that afternoon, seeing her sitting on the bench 
 by the bluff edge, her doll in her arms, he came out of the 
 door of his little kitchen at the back of the shop and called 
 her. 
 
 "Good evenin'," he hailed. "Takin' in the view, was you?" 
 
 She bobbed her head. "Yes, sir," she called in reply; 
 "Petunia and I 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, after a moment. "Don't you like it, Mr. 
 Winslow?"
 
 96 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Eh ? Oh, yes, I like it, I guess. I ain't really had time 
 to look at 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," 
 he suggested. "Plenty of room on that bench, is there?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir, there's lots. I don't take much room and 
 Petunia almost always sits on my lap. Please come." 
 
 So Jed came and, sitting down upon the bench, looked 
 off at the inlet and the beach and the ocean beyond. It 
 was the scene most familiar to him, one he had seen, under 
 varying weather conditions, through man> summers and 
 winters. This very thought was in his mind 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 say somethin'?" 
 
 "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 she accepted 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. Tell me, 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 it ever and ever so much. Mamma says it's " 
 
 Barbara hesitated, and then, after what was evidently a
 
 'SHAVINGS" 97 
 
 severe mental struggle, finished with, "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' sound right to you, Mr. Winslow?" 
 
 Jed looked doubtful. "I shouldn't want to say that it 
 did, right offhand like this," he drawled. 
 
 "No-o. I don't believe it was 'category.' But I'm almost 
 sure it was something about a cat, something a cat eats 
 
 or does or something. Mew mouse milk " she was 
 
 wrinkling her forehead and repeating the words to herself 
 when Mr. Winslow had an inspiration. 
 
 " 'Twan't purgatory, was it ?" he suggested. Miss Bar- 
 bara's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Purr-gatory, that was 
 it," she declared. "And it was something a cat does purr, 
 you know; I knew it was. Mamma said living here was 
 paradise after purr-gatory." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. 
 
 "I cal'late your ma didn't care much for the board at 
 Luretta Smalley's," he observed. He couldn't help think- 
 ing the remark an odd 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 like boarding, you know," this last plainly an- 
 other quotation. "I think she meant she liked living here 
 so much better than she did living in 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, the Armstrong home at Middleford should have 
 been a pleasant one. Barbara rattled on. 
 
 "I guess that was it," she observed. "She was sort of 
 talking to herself when she said it. She /as writing a
 
 98 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 letter to Uncle Charlie, I think it was and I and Petunia 
 asked her if she liked it here and she sort of looked at me 
 without looking, same as you do sometimes, Mr. Winslow, 
 when you're thinking of something else, and then she said 
 that about the catty no, the purr-gatory. And when I 
 asked her what purr-gatory meant she said, 'Never mind,' 
 and . . . Oh, I forgot!" in consternation; "she told me I 
 mustn't tell anybody she said it, either. Oh, dear me!" 
 
 Jed hastened to reassure her. "Never mind," he de- 
 clared, "I'll forget you ever did say it. I'll start in for- 
 gettin' now. In five minutes 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 this you'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 mean not as often as you do, but sometimes, 
 
 'specially since " She hastily 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's thinking so hard, same as you do, Mr. Winslow. 
 You know," she added, earnestly, "she acts quite a lot like 
 you sometimes." 
 
 Jed looked at her in horror. "Good Lord !" he exclaimed. 
 Then, in his solemnest drawl, he added, "You tell her to 
 take somethin' for it afore it's too late." 
 
 As he rose from the bench he observed: "Haven't seen 
 you over to tb ihop since you moved in. I've been turnin'
 
 'SHAVINGS" 99 
 
 out another school of swordfish and whales, too. Why 
 don't you run in and look 'em over?" 
 
 She clapped her hands. "Oh, may I ?" she cried. "I've 
 wanted to ever and ever so much, but Mamma said not 
 to because it might annoy you. 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 too much. Think she'll promise that ? All right ; then 
 fetch her along." 
 
 So, the very next morning, when Jed was busy at the 
 bandsaw, he was not greatly surprised when the door opened 
 and Miss Barbara appeared, with Petunia in her arms. 
 He was surprised, however, and not a little embarrassed 
 when Mrs. Armstrong followed. 
 
 "Good morning," said the lady, pleasantly. "I came over 
 to make sure that there hadn't been a mistake. You really 
 did ask Babby to come 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 
 went away, in spite of Jed's urgent invitation to stay longer. 
 She had asked a good many questions and talked almost 
 continuously, but Mr. Winslow, instead of being bored by 
 her prattle, was surprised to find how empty and uninterest- 
 ing the shop seemed after she had quitted it. 
 
 She came again the next day and the next. By the end 
 of the week Jed had become sufficiently emboldened to
 
 ioo "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ask her mother to permit her to come in the afternoon also. 
 This request was the result of a conspiracy between Bar- 
 bara and himself. 
 
 "You ask your ma," urged Jed. "Tell her I say I need 
 /ou here afternoons." 
 
 Barbara looked troubled. "But that would be a vvrong 
 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 minut* 
 or two, "that I need you to help carry lumber." 
 
 Even a child could not swallow this ridiculous excuse. 
 Barbara burst out laughing. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. "You don't, either. 
 You know I couldn't carry lumber; I'm too little. I 
 couldn't carry any but the littlest, tiny bit." 
 
 Jed nodded, gravely. "Yes, sartin," he agreed; "that's 
 what I need you to carry. You run along and tell her so, 
 that's a good girl." 
 
 But she shook her head vigorously. "No," she declared. 
 "She would say it was silly, and it would be. Besides, you 
 don't really need me at all. You just want Petunia and 
 me for company, same as we want you. Isn't that it, 
 truly?" 
 
 "Um-m. Well, I shouldn't wonder. You can tell her 
 that, if you want to ; I'd just as soon." 
 
 The young lady still hesitated. "No-o," she said, "be- 
 cause she'd think perhaps you didn't really want me, but 
 was too polite to say so. 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 at length he considered to ask Mrs. Armstrong
 
 "SHAVINGS" 101 
 
 for the permission. It was granted, as soon as the lady 
 was convinced that the desire for more of her daughter's 
 society was a genuine one, and thereafter Barbara visited 
 the windmill shop afternoons as well as mornings. She 
 sat, her doll in her arms, upon a box which she soon came 
 to consider her own particular and private seat, watching 
 her long-legged friend as he sawed or glued or jointed o/r 
 painted. He had little waiting on customers to do now, 
 for most of the summer people had gone. His small visitor 
 and he had many long and, to them, interesting conversa- 
 tions. 
 
 Other visitors to the shop, those who knew him well, 
 were surprised and amused to find him on such confidential 
 and intimate terms with a child. Gabe Bearse, after one 
 short call, reported about town that crazy Shavin's Winslow 
 had taken up with a young-one just about 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 we was some kind of curiosities, as you 
 might say. Well, one of us was; eh? Haw, haw! She 
 didn't say a word and Shavin's he never said nothin' and 
 I felt as if I was preaching in a deef and dumb asylum. 
 Finally, I happened to look at her and I see her lips movin'= 
 'Well,' says I, 'you can talk, can't you, sis, even if it'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 was countin'. 'What was you countin' ?' says 
 I. Well, she didn't want to tell that, neither. Finally I 
 dragged it out of her that she was countin' how many 
 words I'd said since I started to tell about Melissy Busteed 
 and what she said about Luther Small's wife's aunt, the 
 one that's so wheezed up with asthma and Doctor Parker
 
 102 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 don't seem to be able to do nothin' to help. 'So you was 
 countin' my words, was you?' says I. 'Well, that's good 
 business, I must say ! How many have I said ?' She looked 
 solemn and shook her head. 'I had to give it up,' says she. 
 'It makes my head ache to count fast very long. Doesn't it 
 give you a headache to count fast, Mr. Winslow ?' Jed, he 
 mumbled some kind of foolishness about some things 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,' 
 mean in' my rheumatiz, you understand. Shavin's he 
 looked moony up at 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 an asylum ? He and that 
 Armstrong kid are well matched. No wonder she sits 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 
 given up hope, Jed. I was fearful that the bloom of your 
 youth would pass 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 yuu. Course she's kind of extra 
 young, but she'll grow out of that, give her time." 
 
 Maud Hunniwell laughed merrily, enjoying Mr. 
 Winslow's confusion. "Oh, the little girl is only the bait, 
 Father," she declared. "It is the pretty widow that Jed 
 is fishing for. She'll be calling here soon, or he'll be call- 
 ing there. Isn't that true, Jed? Own up, now. Oh, see 
 him blush, Father 1 Just see him!" 
 
 Jed, of course, denied that he was blushing. His fair 
 tormentor had no mercy. 
 
 "You must be," she insisted. "At any rate your face
 
 "SHAVINGS" 103 
 
 /s very, very red. I'll leave it to Father. Isn't his face 
 red, Father?" 
 
 "Red as a flannel lung-protector," declared Captain Sam. 
 who was never known to contradict his only daughter, nor, 
 so report affirmed, 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 reaffirm- 
 ing her belief that Mr. Winslow's friendship for the 
 daughter was merely a strategical advance with the mother 
 as the ultimate objective. 
 
 "You'll see, Father," she prophesied, mischievously. 
 "We shall hear of his 'keeping company' with Mrs. Arm- 
 strong soon. Oh, he couldn't escape even if he wanted to. 
 These young widows are perfectly irresistible." 
 
 When they were a safe distance from the windmill shop 
 the captain cautioned his daughter. 
 
 "Maud," he said, "you'd better not tease Jed too much 
 about that good-lookin' tenant of his. He's so queer and 
 so bashful that I'm afraid if you do he'll take a notion to 
 turn the Armstrongs out when 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 great friend 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 been thinkin' is that Jed ought to have a tenant in that 
 Tiouse of his, because he needs the money. And from what 
 I've been able to find out about this Mrs. Armstrong she's 
 a real nice genteel sort of body, and and er "
 
 104 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 fool- 
 ish !" he ordered. "If you don't stop talkin' such nonsense 
 I'll I don't know what I'll do to you. What do you sup- 
 pose her bein' sweet and good-lookin' has got to do with me ? 
 Gracious king! I've got one good-lookin' er that is to 
 say, I've got one young female to take care of now and that's 
 enough, in all conscience." 
 
 His daughter pinched his arm. 
 
 "Oh, ho!" she observed. "You were going to say slu 
 was good-looking and then you changed your mind. Don't 
 you think this young female what a word! you ought to 
 be ashamed of it don't you think she is good-looking, 
 .Daddy, dear?" 
 
 She looked provokingly up into his face and he looked 
 fondly down into hers. 
 
 "Don't you?" she repeated. 
 
 "We-11, I I don't know as I'd want to go so far as to 
 say that. I presume likely her face might not stop a 
 meetin'-house clock on a dark night, but " 
 
 As they were in a secluded spot where a high hedge 
 screened them from observation Miss Maud playfully boxed 
 her parent's ears, a proceeding which he seemed to enjoy 
 hugely. 
 
 But there was reason in the captain's caution, neverthe- 
 less. Miss Maud's "teasing" concerning the widow had set 
 Jed to thinking. The "trial" month was almost up. In a 
 little while he would have to give his decision as to whether 
 the little Winslow house was to continue to be occupied 
 by Barbara and her mother, or whether it was 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 of 
 the moment, as the result of a promise made upon impulse,
 
 "SHAVINGS" 105 
 
 a characteristic Jed Winslow impulse. Now, however, he 
 must decide in cold blood whether or not it should be 
 theirs for another eleven months at least. 
 
 In his conversation with Captain Sam, the conversation 
 which took place immediately after the Armstrongs came, 
 he had stoutly maintained that the latter would not wish to 
 stay longer than the month, that his own proximity as land- 
 lord and neighbor would be unbearable longer than that 
 period. But if the widow found it so she had so far shown 
 no evidence of her disgust. Apparently that means of 
 breaking off the relationship could not be relied upon. Of 
 course he did not know whether or not she wished to re- 
 main, but, if she did, didjie wish her to do so? There was 
 nothing personal in the matter; it was merely the question 
 as to whether his prejudice of years against renting that 
 house to any one was to rule or be overthrown. If she asked 
 him for his decision what should he say? At night, when 
 he went to bed, his mind was made up. In the morning 
 when he arose it was unmade. As he told Captain Hunni- 
 well : "I'm like that old clock I used to have, Sam. The 
 pendulum of that thing used to work fine, but the hands 
 wouldn't move. Same way with me. I tick, tick, tick all 
 day over this 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', if you ask me. And say, speakin' of askin', 
 I'd like to ask you this : How are you goin' to get 'em out, 
 provideu you're fool enough to decide they've got to go? 
 Are you goin' to tell Mrs. Armstrong right up and down 
 and flat-footed that you can't stand any more of her? I'd 
 like to hear you say it. Let me know when the show's 
 goin' to come off. I want a seat in the front row." 
 
 Poor Jed looked aghast at the very idea. His friend
 
 106 "SHAVINGS' 
 
 laughed derisively and walked off and left him. And the 
 days passed and the "trial month" drew closer and closer 
 to its end until one morning he awoke to realize that that 
 end had come; the month was up 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 he did not know what to say, and 
 the other that he was afraid to say it. But, as the time 
 approached when the decision must be made, he had ex- 
 pected that she would spealc. And she had not. He saw 
 her daily, sometimes several times a day. She often came 
 into the shop to find Barbara, who made the workroom a 
 playhouse on rainy or cloudy days, and she talked with hirr 
 on other topics, but she did not mention this one. 
 
 It was raining on this particular day, the last day in the 
 "trial month," and Jed, working at his lathe, momentarily 
 expected Barbara to appear, with Petunia under one arm 
 ind a bundle of dolls' clothes under the other, to announce 
 tasually that, as it was such bad weather, they had run in 
 to keep him, Mr. Winslow, from getting lonesome. There 
 was precious little opportunity to be lonesome where Bab- 
 bie was. 
 
 But this morning the child did not come and Jed, won- 
 dering what the reason for her absence might be, began to 
 feel vaguely uncomfortable. Just what was the matter he 
 did not know, but that there was something wrong with 
 him, Jed Winslow, was plain. He could not seem to keep 
 his mind on his work; he found himself wandering to the 
 window and looking out into the yard, where the lilac 
 bushes whipped and thrashed in the gusts, the overflowing 
 spouts splashed and gurgled, and the sea beyond the edge* 
 of the bluff was a troubled stretch of gray and white, 
 seen through diagonal streaks of wind-driven rain. And 
 always when he looked out of that window he glance<f
 
 'SHAVINGS" 107 
 
 toward the little house next door, hoping to see a small 
 figure, bundled under a big rain coat and sheltered by a big 
 umbrella, dodge out of the door and race across the 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 there was smoke issuing from the chimney of the 
 kitchen, the little house might have been as empty as it had 
 been the month before. 
 
 Or as it might be next month. The thought came to Jed 
 with a meaning and emphasis which it had not brought 
 before. A stronger gust than usual howled around the 
 eaves of the shop, the sashes rattled, the panes were beaten 
 by the flung raindrops which pounded down in watery sheets 
 to the sills, and Jed suddenly diagnosed his own 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 
 alone for the rest of his life, was lonesome. 
 
 He would not admit it, even to himself; it was ridiculous. 
 He was not lonesome, he was just a little "blue," that was 
 all. It was the weather ; he might have caught a slight cold, 
 perhaps his breakfast had not agreed with him. He tried 
 to remember what that breakfast had been. It had been 
 eaten in a hurry, he had been thinking of something else 
 as usual, and, except that it consisted of various odds and 
 ends which he had happened to have on hand, he could not 
 itemize it with exactness. There had been some cold fried 
 potatoes, and some warmed-over pop-overs which had 
 "slumped" in the cooking, and a doughnut or two and oh, 
 yes, a saucer of canned peaches which had been sitting 
 around for a week and which he 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 ot that kind 
 should make him "blue." And yet he was blue yes, and
 
 io8 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 there was no use disguising the fact, he was lonesome. Tf 
 that child would only come, as she generally did, her non- 
 sense might cheer him up a bit. But she did not come. 
 And if he decided not to permit her mother to occupy the 
 house, she would not come much more. Eh ? Why, it was 
 the last day of the month ! She might never come again ! 
 
 Jed shut off the motor and turned away from the lathe. 
 He sank down into his little chair, drew his knee up under 
 his chin, and thought, long and seriously. When the knee 
 slid down to its normal position once more his mind was 
 made up. Mrs. Armstrong might remain 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 great harm. He 
 would wait until she spoke to him about it and then he would 
 give his consent. And and it would please Captain Sam, 
 at any rate. 
 
 He rose and, going to the window, looked out once mor* 
 across the yard. What he saw astonished him. The back 
 door of the house was partially open and a man was just 
 coming out. The man, in dripping oil-skins and 
 sou'wester, was Philander Hardy, the local expressman, 
 Philander turned and spoke to some one in the house behind 
 him. Jed opened the shop door a crack and listened. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," he heard Hardy say. "I'll be back for 
 'em about four o'clock this afternoon. Rain may let up a 
 little mite by that time, and anyhow, I'll have the covered 
 wagon. Your trunks won't get wet, ma'am; I'll see to 
 that." 
 
 A minute later Jed, an old sweater thrown over his head 
 and shoulders, darted out of the iront door of his shop. 
 The express wagon with Hardy on the driver's seat was just 
 moving off. Jed called after it. 
 
 "Hi. Philander !" he called, raising his voice only a little,
 
 "SHAVINGS" 109 
 
 for fear 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 
 equipage opposite the Winslow gate. 
 
 "Hello, Jedidah Shavin's," he observed, with a grin. 
 "Didn't know you for a minute, with that shawl over 
 your tront crimps. What you got 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 does she want? Mrs. Armstrong, I mean? What is 
 it you're comin' back for at four o r clock?" 
 
 Philander looked down at the earnest face under the 
 ancient sweater. 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 is beggin' 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 
 your photograph, Philander," he drawled. "Your kind of 
 face is rare. But I heard you say somethin' about comin' 
 for trunks. Whose trunks ?" 
 
 "Whose? Why, hers and the young-one's, I presume 
 likely. 'Twas them 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 from the Winslow head and shoulders and wrapped 
 it lovingly about one of the posts in the yard. Jed did not 
 offer to recover it ; he scarcely seemed to know that it was 
 gone. Instead he stood staring at the express driver, while
 
 i io "SHAVINGS" 
 
 the rain ran down his nose and dripped from its tip to his 
 chin. 
 
 "She she's goin' back to Luretta Smalley's?" he re- 
 peated. "She " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. Instead he turned on his 
 heel and walked slowly back to the shop. The sweater, 
 wrapped about the post 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, he called : "Hi, Jed ! Jed ! You crazy critter ! What 
 Jed, hold on a minute, didn't you know she was goin'? 
 Didn't she tell you? Jed!" 
 
 But Jed had entered the shop and closed the door. 
 Philander drove off, shaking his head and chuckling to 
 himself. 
 
 A few minutes later Mrs. Armstrong, hearing a knock at 
 the rear door of the Winslow house, opened it to find her 
 landlord standing on the threshold. He was bareheaded 
 and he had no umbrella. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Winslow!" she exclaimed. It was the first 
 time that he had 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't you ? 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's rainin'." 
 
 "Raining ! It's pouring. Come in." 
 
 She took him by the arm and led him through the wood- 
 shed and into the kitchen. She would have led him further, 
 into the sitting-room, but he hung back.
 
 "SHAVINGS" in 
 
 "No, ma'am, no," he said. "I I guess I'll stay here, if 
 you don't mind." 
 
 There was a patter of feet from the sitting-room and 
 Barbara came running, Petunia in her arms. At the sight 
 of their visitor's lanky form the child's face brightened. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Winslow!" she cried. 'Did you come to see 
 where Petunia and I were ? Did you ?" 
 
 Jed looked down at her. "Why why, I don't know's I 
 didn't," he admitted. "I I kind of missed you, I guess." 
 
 "Yes, and we missed you. You see, Mamma said we 
 
 mustn't go to the shop to-day because Oh, Mamma, 
 
 perhaps he has come to tell you we won't have to " 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong interrupted. "Hush, Babbie," she said, 
 quickly. "I told Barbara not to go to visit you to-day, Mr. 
 Winslow. She has been 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 to Luretta'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 I only just realized it, as you might say. I ... 
 Hum! . . . Well . . ." 
 
 He turned away and walked slowly toward the kitchen 
 door. Barbara would have followed but her mother laid 
 a detaining hand upon her shoulder. On the threshold of 
 the door between the dining-room and kitchen Jed paused. 
 
 "Ma'am," he said, hesitatingly, "you you don't cal'late 
 there's anything 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
 
 ii2 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 changed his mind, for he opened the door and went out 
 into the rain without another word. Barbara, very much 
 surprised and hurt, looked up into her mother's face. 
 
 "Why, Mamma," she cried, ' 'has has he gone? He 
 didn't say good-by to us or or anything. He didn't even 
 say he was sorry we were going." 
 
 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 any one 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 way when he is glad about things. You see," she 
 added, with the air of a 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 standing there, one of his largest windmills 
 a toy at least three feet high in his arms. He bore it into 
 the kitchen and stood it in the middle of the floor, holding 
 the mammoth thing, its peaked roof high above his head, 
 and peering solemnly out between one of its arms and its 
 side. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Winslow!" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Jed. "I I fetched it for Babbie. I 
 just kind of 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 1 
 It's a five dollar one, Mamma !"
 
 "SHAVINGS" 113 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong protested. "Oh, I couldn't let you do 
 that, Mr. Winslow," she declared. "It is much too expen- 
 sive a present. And besides " 
 
 She checked herself just in time. It had been on the tip 
 of her tongue 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 a dweller in a Harlem flat had been presented 
 with a hippopotamus. 
 
 The maker of the mill looked about him, plainly seeking 
 a place to deposit his burden. 
 
 "'Tisn't anything much," he said, hastily. "I I'm real 
 glad for you to have it." 
 
 He was about to put it on top of the cookstove, in which 
 there was a roaring fire, but Mrs. Armstrong, by a startled 
 exclamation and a frantic rush, prevented his doing so. So 
 he put it on tfxj table instead. Barbara thanked him pro- 
 fusely. She was overjoyed; there were no comparisons 
 with hippopotami in her mind. Jed seemed pleased at her 
 appreciation, but he did not smile. Instead he sighed. 
 
 "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 why she should remember me, of 
 course," he added. 
 
 Barbara was hurt and indignant. 
 
 "Of course I shan't forget you, Mr. Winslow," she de- 
 clared. "Neither will Petunia. And neither will Mamma, 
 I know. She feels awful bad because you don't want us to 
 live here any longer, and " 
 
 "Hush, Babbie, hush !" commanded her mother. Barbara 
 hushed, but she had said enough. Jed turned a wondering 
 face in their direction. He stared without speaking. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong felt that some one must say something. 
 
 "You mustn't mind what the child says, Mr. Winslow,"
 
 ii4 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 she explained, hurriedly. "Of course I realize perfectly 
 that this house is yours and you certainly have the right to 
 do what you please with your own. And I have known all 
 the time that we were here merely on trial." 
 
 Jed lifted a big hand. 
 
 "Er er just a minute, ma'am, please," he begged. "I 
 I guess my wooden head is beginnin' to splinter or some- 
 thin'. Please answer me just this if if you'd just as 
 soon : Why are you movin' back to Luretta's ?" 
 
 It was her turn to look wonderingly at him. "Why, Mr. 
 Winslcw," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "isn't that 
 rather an unnecessary question ? When Babbie and I came 
 here it was with the understanding that we were to be on 
 trial for a month. We had gone into no details at all, except 
 that the rent for this one month should be forty dollars. 
 You were, as I understood it, to consider the question of 
 our staying and, if you liked us and liked the idea of rent- 
 ing the house at all, you were to come to me and discuss 
 the matter. The month is up and you haven't said a word 
 on the subject. And, knowing what your feelings had been, 
 I of course realized that you did not wish us to remain, 
 and so, of course, we are going. I am sorry, very sorry. 
 Babbie and I love this little house, 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 to Luretta Smalley's because you think / don't 
 want you to stay ? Is that it, honest truth ?" 
 
 "Why, of course, it is. What else?" 
 
 "And and 'tain't because you can't stand me any 
 longer, same as Mother 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 115 
 
 my face out in the yard, and and holler and sing mornin's 
 and look so everlastin' homely and and be what every- 
 body calls a town crank and " 
 
 "Mr. Winslow ! Please!" 
 
 "And and you and Babbie would stay right here if if 
 you thought I wanted you to?" 
 
 "Why, of course. But you don't, do you ?" 
 
 Before Jed could answer the outside door was thrown 
 open without knock or preliminary warning, and Captain 
 Sam Hunniwell, dripping water 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, a seraphic smile. Receiving no reply, Captain Sam 
 angrily repeated his question. "Is it true?" he demanded. 
 
 "No-o, no, I guess 'tisn't I'd know better if I knew what 
 he told you." 
 
 "He told me that Mrs. Armstrong here was movin' back 
 to Luretta Smaliey's to-day. Jed Winslow, have you been 
 big enough fcol " 
 
 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 this house to Mrs. Armstrong here." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong was, naturally, rather surprised. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Winslow," she cried; "what are you talking 
 about? We haven't agreed upon rent or "
 
 n6 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Yes, we have. We've agreed about everything. Er 
 Babbie, you get your things on and come on over to the 
 shop. You and I mustn't be sittin' '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's trial," did Jed grant the permanent 
 tenure of his property. The question of rent, which 
 might easily have been, with the ordinary sort of landlord, a 
 rock in the channel, turned out to be not even a pebble.. 
 Captain Hunniwell, who was handling the business details, 
 including the making out of the lease, was somewhat 
 troubled. 
 
 "But, Jed," he protested, "you've got to listen to me. She 
 won't pay forty a month, although she agrees with me that 
 for a furnished house in a location like this it's dirt cheap. 
 Of course she's takin' it for all the year, which does make 
 consider'ble difference, although from May to October, 
 when the summer folks are here, 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'. Gracious king! If you 
 ain't enough to drive the mate of a cattle boat into gettin' 
 religion ! Do you hear me ? I say she won't pay " 
 
 Jed, who was sitting before the battered old desk in the 
 corner of his workshop, did not look around, but he waved 
 his right hand, the fingers 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 out somethin' important." 
 
 "Well, this is important. Or, if it ain't, there's plenty 
 that is important waitin' for me up at the bank. I'm 
 handlin' this house business as a favor to you. If you 
 think I've got nothin' else to do you're mistaken."
 
 ii8 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 excuse for troublin' you." 
 
 "You ain't troublin' me not that way. All I want of 
 you is to say yes or no. I tell you Mrs. Armstrong thinks 
 she can't afford to pay forty a month." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And perhaps she can't. But you've got your own in- 
 terests to think about. 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 
 about makin' a different kind of mill one like a gull, you 
 know, that'll flap its wings up and down when the wind 
 blows and er I'm afraid my head is solid full of that 
 and nothin' else. There generally ain't more'n room for 
 one idea in my head," he added, apologetically. "Some- 
 times 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 house of 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 she and Babbie are to have the house for as long as 
 they want it, so it's only fair to let them settle the rest,
 
 'SHAVINGS" ng 
 
 seems to me. Whatever Mrs. Armstrong wants to pay'll be 
 all right. You just leave it to her." 
 
 Captain Sam rose to his feet. 
 
 "I've a dum good mind to," he declared " 'T would serve 
 you right if she paid you ten cents a year." Then, with a 
 glance of disgust at the mountain of old letters and papers 
 piled upon the top of the desk where his friend was at 
 work, he added: "What do you clean that desk of yours 
 with a shovel?" 
 
 The slow smile drifted across the Winslow face. "I 
 cal'late that's what I should have to use, Sam," he drawled, 
 "if I ever cleaned it." 
 
 The captain and the widow agreed upon thirty-five dol- 
 lars a month. It developed that she owned their former 
 house in Middleford and that the latter had been rented for 
 a very much higher rent. "My furniture," she added, "that 
 which I did not sell when we gave up housekeeping, is stored 
 with a friend there. I know it is extravagant, my hiring a 
 furnished house, but I'm sure Mr. Winslow wouldn't let 
 this one unfurnished and, besides, it would be a crime to 
 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. Of course I hope I shall not, but I may." 
 
 Captain Sam would have asked questions concerning her 
 life in Middleford, in fact he did ask a few, but the answers 
 he received were unsatisfactory. Mrs. Armstrong evidently 
 did not care to talk on the subject. The captain thought 
 her attitude a little odd, but decided that the tragedy of her 
 husband's death must be the cause of her reticence. Her 
 parting remarks on this occasion furnished an explanation. 
 
 "If you please, Captain Hunniwell," she said, "I would 
 rather you did not tell any one about my having lived in 
 Middleford and my affairs there. I have told very few 
 people in Orham and I think on the whole it is better not to.
 
 120 *SKAVINGS" 
 
 What is the use of having one's personal history discussed 
 by strangers?" 
 
 She was evidently a trifle embarrassed and confused as 
 she said this, for she blushed just a little. Captain Sam 
 decided that the blush was becoming. Also, as he walked 
 back to the bank, he reflected that Jed Winslow's tenant 
 was likely to have her personal history and affairs discussed 
 whether she wished it or not. Young women as attractive 
 as she were bound to be discussed, especially in a com- 
 munity the size of Orham. And, besides, whoever else she 
 may have told, she certainly had told him that Middleford 
 had formerly been her home and he had told Maud and 
 Jed. Of course they would say nothing if he asked them, 
 but perhaps they had told it already. And why should 
 Mrs. Armstrong care, anyway? 
 
 "Let folks talk," he said that evening, in conversation 
 with his daughter. "Let 'em talk, that's my motto. When 
 they're lyin' about me I know they ain't lyin' about any- 
 body else, that's some comfort. But women folks, 1 
 cal'late, feel different." 
 
 Maud was interested and a little suspicious. 
 
 "You don't suppose, Pa," she said, "that this Mrs. Arm- 
 strong has a past, 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 want other 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 the first thing for your dad to do is to find out 
 what sort of books you read. A past! Ho, ho! I guess 
 likely Mrs. Armstrong is a plaguey sight more worried 
 about the future than she is about the past. She has lived 
 the past already, but she's got to live the future and pay
 
 'SHAVINGS" 121 
 
 the bills belongin' to it, and that's no triflin' job in futures 
 like these days." 
 
 Needless to say Jed Winslow did no speculating con- 
 cerning his tenant's "past." Having settled the question 
 of that tenancy definitely and, as he figured it, forever, he 
 put the matter entirely out of his mind and centered all 
 his energies upon the new variety of mill, the gull which 
 was to flap its wings when the wind blew. Barbara was, 
 of course, much interested in the working out of this in- 
 vention, 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 of stopping at the Armstrong door to ask if there 
 were any errands to be done downtown. "Coin' right along 
 down on my own account, ma'am," was his invariable ex- 
 cuse. "Might just as well run your errands at the same 
 time." Also, whenever he chopped a supply of kindling 
 wood for his own use he chopped as much more and filled 
 the oilcloth-covered box which stood by the stove in the 
 Armstrong ki' :hen. He would not come in and sit down, 
 however, in spite of Barbara'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 sit down to a meal. Barbara, of course, was par- 
 tially responsible for this amazing invitation, but it was 
 Heman Taylor's old brindle tomcat which really brought it 
 to pass. The cat in question was a disreputable 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 was preparing his dinner. The piece de resistance of 
 the dinner was. in this instance, to be a mackerel. Jed had
 
 122 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 bought the mackerel of the fish peddler the previous after- 
 noon and it had been reposing on a plate in the little ancient 
 ice-chest which stood by the back door of the Winslow 
 kitchen. Barbara, just back from Sunday school and ar- 
 rayed in her best, saw that back door open and decided to 
 call. 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 an- 
 swered. "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 be getting it, you know." 
 
 Jed took the mackerel out of the ice-chest and put the 
 plate containing it on the top of the latter. "We-ell," he 
 drawled, "you can't always tell. I might take so long 
 gettin' it that, first thing I knew, 'twould be supper." 
 
 Humming a hymn he took another dish from the ice- 
 chest and placed it 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 call it a man's poor puddin', but it makes good 
 enough ballast for a craft 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 123 
 
 to have chicken and lemon jelly." Then, remembering her 
 manners, she added: "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, who would?" 
 
 The question was answered promptly. While Mr. 
 Winslow and his small caller were chatting concerning the 
 former's dinner, another eager personality was taking a 
 marked interest in a portion of that dinner. Cherub, the 
 Taylor cat, abroad on a foraging expedition, had scented 
 from his perch upon a nearby fence a delicious and appe- 
 tizing odor. Following his nose, literally, Cherub de- 
 scended from the fence and advanced, sniffing as he came. 
 The odor was fish, fresh fish. Cherub's green eyes blazed, 
 his advance became crafty, strategical, determined. He 
 crept to the Winslow back step, he looked up through the 
 open door, he saw the mackerel upon its 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 Bar- 
 bara, a crash two crashes, a momentary glimpse of a 
 brindle cat with a mackerel crosswise in its mouth and the 
 ends dragging on the ground, a rattle of claws on the 
 fence. Then Jed and his visitor were left to gaze upon 
 a broken plate on the floor, an overturned bowl on top of 
 the ice-chest, and a lumpy rivulet of rice pudding trickling 
 to the floor. 
 
 "Oh ! Oh ! Oh !" cried Barbara, wringing her hands in 
 consternation. 
 
 Jed surveyed the ruin of the "poor man's pudding" and 
 gazed thoughtfully at the top of the fence over which the 
 marauder had disappeared.
 
 124 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Hum," he mused. "H-u-u-m. . . . Well, I did cal'late I 
 could get a meal out of sight pretty fast myself, but but 
 I ain't in that critter's class." 
 
 "But your dinner!" wailed Barbara, almost in tears. 
 "He's spoiled all your dinner ! Oh, the bad thing ! I hate 
 that Cherub cat ! I hate him !" 
 
 Mr. Winslow rubbed his chin. "We-e-11," he drawled 
 again. "He does seem to have done what you might call 
 a finished job. H-u-u-m! . . . 'Another offensive on the 
 er no'theast'ard front; all objectives attained.' That's the 
 way the newspapers tell such things nowadays, ain't it? 
 . . . However, there's no use cryin' over spilt er pud- 
 din'. Lucky there's eggs and milk aboard the ship. I 
 shan't starve, anyhow." 
 
 Barbara was aghast. "Eggs and milk!" she repeated. 
 "Is that all you've got for Sunday dinner, Mr. Winslow? 
 Why, that's awful!" 
 
 Jed smiled and began picking up the fragments of the 
 plate. He went to the closet to get a broom and when he 
 came out again the young 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 please come 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'm not sure," she said, "but I think there's some- 
 thing she wants you to do." 
 
 Wondering what the something might be, Jed promised 
 to be over in a minute or two. Barbara danced away, 
 apparently much excited. Mr. Winslow, remembering that 
 it was Sunday, performed a hasty toilet at the sink, combed
 
 "SHAVINGS" 125 
 
 his hair, put on his coat and walked across the yard. Bar- 
 bara 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. 
 Armstrong drawing back one of three chairs. He looked 
 at her. 
 
 "Good mornin', ma'am," he stammered. "Babbie, she 
 said er she said there was somethin' you wanted me 
 to do." 
 
 The lady smiled. "There is," she replied. "Babbie has 
 told me what happened to your dinner, and she and I want 
 you to sit right down and have dinner with us. We're 
 expecting you, everything is ready, and we shall yes, we 
 shall be hurt if you don't stay. Shan't we, Babbie?" 
 
 Barbara nodded vigorously. "Awf'ly," she declared; 
 " 'specially Petunia. You will stay, won't you, Mr. Win- 
 slow please?" 
 
 Poor Jed! His agitation was great, his embarrassment 
 greater and his excuses for not accepting the invitation 
 numerous if not convincing. But at last he yielded and sat 
 reluctantly down to the first meal he had eaten in that house 
 for five years. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong, realizing his embarrassment, did not 
 urge him to talk and Barbara, although she chattered con- 
 tinuously, did not seem to expect answers to her questions. 
 So Jed ate a little, spoke a little, and thought a great deal. 
 And by the time dinner was over some of his shyness and 
 awkwardness had worn away. He insisted upon helping 
 with the dishes and, because she saw that he would be hurt 
 if she did not, his hostess permitted him to do so. 
 
 "You see, ma'am," he said, "I've been doin' dishes for 
 a consider'ble spell, more years than I like to count. I ought
 
 126 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 to be able to do 'em fair to middlin' well. But," he added, 
 as much to himself as to her, "I don't know as that's any 
 sign. There's so many 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. Win- 
 slow," she answered, just a little sadly, so it seemed to him. 
 "Barbara and I are learning, that is all." 
 
 "Nora used to do the dishes at home," put in Barbara. 
 "Mamma hardly ever " 
 
 "Hush, dear," interrupted her mother. "Mr. Winslow 
 wouldn't be interested." 
 
 After considerable urging Jed consented to sit a while 
 in the living-room. He was less reluctant to talk by this 
 time and, the war creeping into the conversation, as it does 
 into all conversations nowadays, they spoke of recent hap- 
 penings at home and abroad. Mrs. Armstrong was sur- 
 prised to find how well informed her landlord was 
 concerning the world struggle, its causes and its progress. 
 
 "Why, no, ma'am," he said, in answer to a remark of 
 hers ; "I ain't read it up much, as I know of, except in the 
 newspapers. I ain't an educated man. Maybe " with his 
 slow smile "maybe you've guessed as much as that 
 already." 
 
 "I know that you have talked more intelligently on this 
 war than any one else I have heard since I came to this 
 town," she declared, emphatically. "Even Captain Hunni- 
 well 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 
 tried not to show it. "Well, now, ma'am," he drawled, 
 "I'm afraid you ain't been to the post office much mail times.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 127 
 
 If you'd just drop in there some evenin' and hear Gabe 
 Bearse and Bluey Batcheldor raise hob with the Kaiser 
 you'd understand why the confidence of the Allies is un- 
 shaken, 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 over it, my sittin' here in this house, eatin' with 
 you folks and talkin' with you like this." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smiled. "I can't see anything so very 
 astonishing about it," she said. 
 
 "Can't you?" 
 
 "Certainly not. Why shouldn't you do it often? We 
 are landlord and 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 your thinkin' of doin' it, your askin' me and and 
 ivantin' to ask me that seems so kind of odd. Do you 
 know," he added, in a burst of confidence, "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 
 frorr 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 moment or 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 the Davidsons 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
 
 128 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 I am sure you had a reason for refusing." 
 
 "Yes'm. But I ain't ever told anybody what that reason 
 was. I've told Sam a reason, but 'twan't the real one. I 
 I guess likely I'll tell it to you. I imagine 'twill sound 
 foolish enough. 'Twas just somethin' I heard Colonel 
 Davidson say, that's all." 
 
 He paused. Mrs. Armstrong did not speak. After an 
 interval he continued: 
 
 " 'Twas one day along the last of the season. The 
 Davidsons had company and they'd been in to see the shop 
 and the mills and vanes and one thing or 'nother. They 
 seemed nice, pleasant enough folks; laughed a good deal, 
 but I didn't mind that. I walked out into the yard along 
 with 'em and then, after I left 'em, I stood for a minute 
 on the front step of the shop, with the open door between 
 me and this house here. A minute or so later I heard 'em 
 come into this very room. They couldn't see me, 'count of 
 the door, but I could 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. At length Mrs. Armstrong ventured to remind 
 him. 
 
 "And then ?" she asked. 
 
 "Eh? Oh, yes, ma'am i Well, then I heard one of the 
 comp'ny say: 'I don't wonder you enjoy it here, Ed,' he 
 says. 'That landlord of yours is worth all the rent you pay 
 and more. 'Tain't everybody that has a (lime museum 
 right on the premises.' All hands laughed and then Colonel 
 Davidson said: 'I thought you'd appreciate him,' he says 
 'We'll have another session with him before you leave
 
 'SHAVINGS" 129 
 
 Perhaps we can get him into the house here this evenin'. 
 My wife is pretty good at that, she jollies him along. Oh, 
 he swallows it all; 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," with an 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 once thought they 
 did it for any reason but just because they well, liked me, 
 maybe. Course I'd ought to have known better. Fine 
 ladies and gentlemen like them don't take much fancy to 
 dime museum folks." 
 
 There was just a trace of bitterness in his tone, the first 
 Mrs. Armstrong had ever noticed there. Involuntarily she 
 leaned toward him. 
 
 "Don't, Mr. Winslow," she begged. "Don't think of it 
 again. They must have been beasts, those people, and they 
 don't deserve a moment's thought. And don't call them 
 ladies and gentlemen. The only gentleman there was your- 
 self." 
 
 Jed shook his head. 
 
 "If you said that around the village here," he drawled, 
 "somebody might be for havin' you sent to the asylum up 
 to Taunton. Course I'm much obliged to you, but, honest, 
 you hadn't ought to take the risk." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smiled slightly, but hers was a forced 
 smile. What she had just heard, told in her guest's quaint 
 language as a statement of fact and so obviously with no 
 thought of effect, had touched her more than any plea for 
 sympathy could have done. She felt as if she had a 
 glimpse into this man's simple, trusting, sensitive soul. And
 
 130 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 with that glimpse came a new feeling toward him, a feeling 
 of pity yes, and more than that, a feeling of genuine 
 respect. 
 
 He sighed again and rose to go. "I declare," he said, 
 apologetically, "I don't know what I've been botherin' you 
 with all this for. As I said, I've never told that yarn to 
 anybody afore and I never meant to tell it. I " 
 
 But she interrupted him. "Please don't apologize," she 
 said. "I'm very glad you told it to me." 
 
 "I cal'late you think it's a queer reason for lettin' this 
 house stand empty all this time." 
 
 "No, I think it was a very good one, and Babbie and I are 
 honored to know that your estimate of us is sufficiently 
 high to overcome your prejudice." 
 
 "Well, ma'am, I I guess it's goin' to be all right. If 
 you feel you can get along with me for a landlord I'd ought 
 sartin to be willin' to have you for tenants. Course I don't 
 blame the Davidsons, 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 merely tenants and neighbors, but 
 friends real friends." 
 
 Jed did not reply for at least a minute. Then he said: 
 "I'm afraid you'll be kind of lonesome ; my friends are like 
 corn sprouts in a henyard, few and scatterin'." 
 
 "So much the better; we shall feel that we belong to 
 select company." 
 
 He did not thank her nor answer, but walked slowly on 
 through the dining-room and kitchen, where he opened the 
 door and stepped out upon the grass. There he stood for 
 a moment, gazing at the sky, alternately puckering his lips 
 and opening them, but without saying a word. Mrs. Arm- 
 strong and Barbara, who had followed him, watched these
 
 "SHAVINGS" 131 
 
 facial gymnastics, the lady with astonishment, her daughtei 
 with expectant interest. 
 
 "I know what he is doing that for, Mamma," she 
 whispered. "It's because 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's thinking like that. And see, Mamma, he is going 
 to whistle." 
 
 Sure enough, their guest whistled a few mournful bars, 
 breaking off suddenly 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 cat got away with. If there was it might choke or 
 somethin'." 
 
 "Good gracious ! I shouldn't worry over that possibility, 
 if I were you. I should scarcely blame you for wishing it 
 might choke, after stealing your dinner." 
 
 Mr. Winslow shook his head. "That wouldn't do," 
 solemnly. "If it choked it couldn't ever steal another one." 
 
 "But you don't want it to steal another one, do you?" 
 
 "We-11, if every one it stole meant my havin' as good an 
 afternoon as 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' for the critter's benefit. Well er good day, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow. We shall expect you 
 again soon. You must be neighborly, for, remember, we 
 are friends now."
 
 132 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed was half way across the yard, but he stopped ana 
 turned. 
 
 "My my fronds generally call me 'Jed,' " he said. Then, 
 his face a bright red, he hurried into the shop and closed 
 the door,
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AFTER this, having broken the ice, Jed, as Captain 
 Sam Hunniwdl might have expressed it, "kept the 
 channel clear." When he stopped at the kitchen 
 door of his tenants' house he no longer invariably refused 
 to come in and sit down. When he inquired if Mrs. Arm- 
 strong had any errands to be done he also asked if there 
 were any chores he might help out with. When the old 
 clock a geunine Seth Willard on the wall of the living- 
 room refused to go, he came in, sat down, took the re- 
 fractory timepiece in his arms and, after an hour of what 
 he called ''putterin' and jackleggin'," hung it up again 
 apparently in as good order as ever. During the process 
 he whistled a little, sang a hymn or two, and talked with 
 Barbara, who found the conversation a trifle unsatisfactory. 
 
 "He hardly ever finished what he was going to say," she 
 confided to her mother afterward. "He'd start to tell me a 
 story and just as he got to the most interesting part some- 
 thing about the clock would seem to you know trouble 
 him and he'd stop and, when he began again, he'd be singing 
 instead of talking. I asked him what made him do it and 
 he said he cal'lated his works must be loose and every once 
 in a while his speaking trumpet fell down into his music 
 box. Isn't he a funny man, Mamma ?" 
 
 "He is indeed, Babbie." 
 
 "Yes. Petunia and I think he's he's perfectly scru- 
 she-aking. Twas awful nice of him to fix our clock, wasn't 
 it, Mamma." 
 
 "Yes, de*r." 
 
 133
 
 134 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Yes. And I know why he did it ; he told me. Twas on 
 Petunia's account. He said not to let her know it but he'd 
 taken consider'ble of a shine to her. I think he's taken a 
 shine to me, don't you, Mamma ?" 
 
 "Fm sure of it." 
 
 "So am I. And I 'most guess he's taken one to you, 
 too. Anyhow he watches 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. She decided she must be more rareful in hiding 
 her feelings when her landlord was about. She had had no 
 idea that he could be so observing; certainly he did not 
 look it. 
 
 But her resolution was a little late. Jed had mad< up 
 his mind that something was troubling his fair tenant. 
 Again and again, now that he was coming to know her 
 better and better, he had noticed the worn, anxious look on 
 her face, and once before the day of the clock repairing 
 he had seen her when it seemed to him that she had been 
 crying. He did not mention his observations or inferences 
 to any one, even Captain Sam, but he was sure he was right. 
 Mrs. Armstrong was worried and anxious and he did not 
 like the idea. He wished 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 to offer his 
 services and perhaps have them accepted, but not he, not 
 Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow. But he wished he could. 
 She had asked him to consider her a real friend, and to 
 Jed, who had so few, a friend was a possession holy and 
 precious. 
 
 Meanwhile the war was tightening its grip upon Orham 
 as upon every city, town and hamlet in the land. At first
 
 'SHAVINGS" 135 
 
 it had been a thing to read about in the papers, to cheer for, 
 to keep the flags flying. But it had been far off, unreal. 
 Then came the volunteering, and after that the draft, and 
 the reality drew a little nearer. Work upon the aviation 
 camp at East Hamis: had actually begun. The office 
 buildings were up and the sheds for the workmen. They 
 were erect'' ^ frames for the barracks, so Gabriel Bearse 
 reported. The sight of a uniform in Orhara streets was no 
 longer such a novelty as to bring the population, old and 
 young, to doors and windows. Miss Maua Hunniwell laugh- 
 ingly confided to Jed that she was beginning to have hopes, 
 real hopes, of seeing genuine gold lace some day soon. 
 
 Captain Sam, her father, was busy. Sessions of the 
 Exemption Board were not quite as frequent as at first, but 
 the captain declared them frequent enough. And volunteer- 
 ing went on steadi/y here and there among young blood 
 which, having drawn a 'ow number in the draft, was too 
 impatient for active service to wait its turn. Gustavus 
 Howes, bookkeeper at the bank, was one example. Captain 
 Sam told Jed about it on one of his calls. 
 
 "Yep," he said, "Gus has gone, cleared out yesterday 
 afternoon. Coin' to one of the trainin' camps to try to 
 learn to be an officer. Eh ? What did I say to him ? Why, 
 I couldn't say nothin', could I, but 'Hurrah' and 'God blesa 
 you'? But it's leavin' a bad hole 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 to try and fill it. Barzilla Small was in to see 
 me yesterday afternoon and he's sartin that his boy Luther 
 Lute, everybody calls him is just the one for the place. 
 He's been to work up in Fall River in a bank, so Barzilla 
 saysj that would mean he must have had some experience.
 
 136 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Whether he'll do or not I don't know, but he's about the 
 only candidate in sight, these war times. What do 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* 
 him President of the United States, did you?" 
 
 "Hum! . . . W-e-e-11. . . . One time when I was a little 
 shaver, Sam, down to the fishhouse, I tried on a pair of 
 Cap'n Jabe Kelly's rubber boots. You remember Cap'n 
 Jabe, Sam, of course. Do you remember his feet?" 
 
 The captain chuckled. "My dad used to say Jabe's feet 
 reminded him of a couple of chicken-halibut." 
 
 "Um-hm. . . . Well, I tried on his boots and started to 
 walk across 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 my walk afore those boots began to move." 
 
 Captain Hunniwell enjoyed the story hugely. It was not 
 until his laugh had died away to a chuckle that its applica- 
 tion to the bank situation dawned upon him. 
 
 "Umph!" he grunted. "I see. You cal'late that Lute 
 Small will fill Gus Howes' job about the way you filled 
 those boots, eh? You may be right, shouldn't wonder if 
 you was, but we've got to have somebody and we've got to 
 have him now. So I guess likely we'll let Lute sign on 
 and wait till later to find out whether he's an able seaman 
 or a a " 
 
 He hesitated, groping for a simile. Mr. Winslow sup- 
 plied one. 
 
 "Or a leak," he suggested. 
 
 "Yes, that's it. Say, have you heard anything from 
 Leander Babbitt lately?"
 
 "SHAVINGS" 137 
 
 "No, nothin' more than Gab Bearse was reelin' off last 
 time he was in here. How is Phin Babbitt? Does he 
 speak to you yet?" 
 
 "Not a word. But the looks he gives me when we meet 
 would sour milk. He's dead sartin that I had somethin' 
 to do with his boy's volunteerin' and he'll never forgive 
 me for it. He's the best hand at unforgivin' I ever saw. 
 Nv no ! Wonder what he'd say if he knew '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 what you had yesterday, didn't I ? Any errands 
 you want done over to Harniss? Maud and I are goin' 
 over there in the car this afternoon." 
 
 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 of those things the soldiers put on in the 
 trenches I'd wish you'd buy it 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 Bearse dropped in and started talkin'," he drawled, 
 solemnly. 
 
 October came in clear and fine and on a Saturday in that 
 month Jed and Barbara went on their long anticipated pic- 
 nic to the aviation camp at East Harniss. The affair was 
 one which they had planned together. Barbara, having 
 heard much concerning aviation during her days of play- 
 ing and listening in the windmill shop, had asked questions. 
 She wished to know what an aviation was. Jed had ex- 
 plained, whereupon his young visitor expressed a wish to 
 go and see for herself. "Couldn't you take Petunia and 
 me some time, Mr. Winslow?" she asked.
 
 138 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Guess maybe so," was the reply, "provided I don't for- 
 get it, same as you forget about not callin' me Mr. Win- 
 slow." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry. Petunia ought to have reminded me. 
 Can't you take me some time, Uncle Jed?" 
 
 He had insisted upon her dropping the "Mr." in ad- 
 dressing him. "Your ma's goin' to call me Jed," he told 
 her; "that is to say, I hope she is, and you might jusr is 
 well. I always answer fairly prompt whenever anybody 
 says 'Jed,' 'cause I'm used to it. When they say 'Mr. Win- 
 slow' I have to stop and think a week afore I remember who 
 they mean." 
 
 But Barbara, having consulted her mother, refused to 
 address her friend as "Jed." "Mamma says it wouldn't 
 be respect respectaful," she said. "And I don't think it 
 would myself. You see, you're older than I am," she 
 added. 
 
 Jed nodded gravely. "I don't know but I am, a little, 
 now you remind me of it," he admitted. "Well, I tell you 
 call me 'Uncle Jed.' That's got a handle to it but it ain't 
 so much like the handle to an ice pitcher as Mister is. 'Un- 
 cle Jed' 'lido, won't it?" 
 
 Barbara pondered. "Why," she said, doubtfully, "you 
 aren't my uncle, really. If you were you'd be Mamma's 
 brotheV, like like Uncle Charlie, you know." 
 
 It was the second time she had mentioned "Uncle Char- 
 lie." Jed had never heard Mrs. Armstrong speak of hav- 
 ing a brother, and he wondered vaguely why. However, 
 he did not wonder long on this particular occasion. 
 
 "Humph!" he grunted. "Well, let's see. I tell you: 
 I'll be your step-uncle. That'll do, won't it ? You've heard 
 of step-f athers ? Um-hm. Well, they ain't real fathers, 
 and a step-uncle ain't a real uncle. Now you think that 
 over and see if that won't fix it first-rate."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 139 
 
 The child thought it over. "And shall I call you 'Step- 
 Uncle Jed'?" she asked. 
 
 "Eh ? . . . Um. . . . No-o, I guess I wouldn't. I'm only 
 a back step-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 ask your 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 yot* 
 and I together," she said. "But when other people are 
 around she thinks 'Mr. Winslow' would be more respecta- 
 ful." 
 
 It was settled on that basis. 
 
 "Can't you take me to the aviation place sometime, Un- 
 cle Jed ?" asked Barbara. 
 
 Jed thought he could, if he could borrow a boat some- 
 where and Mrs. Armstrong was willing that Barbara 
 should go with him. Both permission and the boat were 
 obtained, the former with little difficulty, after Mrs. Arm- 
 strong had made inquiries concerning Mr. Winslow's skill 
 in handling a boat, the latter with more. At last Captain 
 Perez Ryder, being diplomatically approached, told Jed he 
 might use his eighteen foot power dory for a day, the only 
 cost being that entailed by purchase of the necessary oil 
 and gasoline. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning when they started on their 
 six mile sail, or "chug," as Jed called it. Mrs. Armstrong 
 had put up a lunch for them, and Jed had a bucket of clams, 
 a kettle, a pail of milk, some crackers, onions and salt pork, 
 the ingredients of a possible 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 in the lee of the pines. Soon's it gets any 
 ways chilly we'll be startin' home. Wish you were goin' 
 along, too."
 
 140 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smiled and said she wished it had been 
 possible for her to go, but it was not. She looked pale 
 that morning, so it seemed 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 locked the front one, the one to the shop, though. Did 
 you see the sign I tacked on the outside of it?" 
 
 "No, I didn't." 
 
 "I didn't know but you might have. I put on it : 'Closed 
 for the day. Inquire at Abijah Thompson's.' You see," 
 he added, his eye twinkling ever so little, " 'Bije Thompson 
 lives in the last house in the village, two mile or more over 
 to the west'ard." 
 
 "He does! Then why in the world did you tell people 
 to inquire there?" 
 
 "Oh, if I didn't they'd be botherin' you, probably, and 
 I didn't want '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. I guess 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 saun- 
 tered over to the kitchen, closed the door, and then, open- 
 ing the window beside it, reached in through that window 
 and turned the key in the lock of the door. Leaving the 
 key in that lock and the window still open, he came saun- 
 tering back again. 
 
 "There," he drawled, "I guess everything's safe enough 
 now."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 141 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong regarded him in amused wonder. "Do 
 you usually lock your door on the inside in that way?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Eh? ... Oh, yes'm. If I locked it on the outside I'd 
 have to take the key with me, and I'm such an absent- 
 minded dumb-head, I'd be pretty sure to lose it Come 
 on, Babbie. All aboard I"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE "Araminta," which was the name of Captain 
 Perez's power dory a name, so the captain invaria- 
 bly explained, "wished onto her" before he bought 
 her chugged along steadily if not swiftly. The course was 
 always in protected water, inside the outer beaches or 
 through the narrow channels between the sand islands, and 
 so there were no waves to contend with and no danger. Jed, 
 in the course of his varied experience afloat and ashore, had 
 picked up a working knowledge of gasoline engines and, 
 anyhow, as he informed his small passenger, the "Ara- 
 minta's" engine didn't need any expert handling. "She 
 runs just like some folks' tongues ; just get her started and 
 she'll clack along all day," he observed, adding philosoph- 
 ically, "and that's a good thing in an engine." 
 
 "I know whose tongue you're thinking about, Uncle 
 Jed," declared Barbara. "It's Mr. Gabe Bearse's." 
 
 Jed was much amused; he actually laughed aloud. 
 "Gabe and this engine are different in one way, though," 
 he said. "It's within the 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 of what was to be the aviation camp 
 loomed raw and yellow in the sunlight. A brisk breeze 
 ruffled the blue water and the pines on the hilltops shook 
 their heads and shrugged their green shoulders. The "Ara- 
 minta" chugged across the bay, rising and falling ever so 
 little on the miniature rollers. 
 
 142
 
 'SHAVINGS" 143 
 
 "What shall we do, Uncle Jed?" asked Barbara. "Shall 
 we go to see the camp or shall we have our chowder and 
 luncheon first and then go ?" 
 
 Jed took out his watch, shook it and held it to his ear 
 a precautionary process rendered necessary because of 
 his habit of forgetting to wina it then, after a look at the 
 dial, announced that, as it was only half-past ten, perhaps 
 they had better go to the camp first. 
 
 "You see," he observed, "if we eat now we shan't hardly 
 know whether 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 my 
 appetite's older than yours and it don't take so much exer- 
 cise; I guess that's the difference. We'll eat pretty soon. 
 Let's go and look the place over first." 
 
 They landed in a little cove on the beach adjoining the 
 Government reservation. Jed declared it a good place to 
 make a fire, as it was sheltered from the wind. He an- 
 chored the boat at the edge of the channel and then, pull- 
 ing up the tops of his long-legged rubber boots, carried 
 his passenger ashore. Another trip or two landed the ket- 
 tle, 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 
 aboard that I ought to have fetched ashore and what have 
 I fetched here that 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 
 with myself for forty- five year and I know if there's any-
 
 144 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 thing I can get cross-eyed I'll do it. Just as likely as not 
 I've made the bucket of clams fast to that rope out yonder 
 and hove it overboard, and pretty soon you'll see me tryin' 
 to make chowder out of the anchor. . . . 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 where Uncle Sam's birds are goin' to nest his two- 
 legged birds, I mean?" 
 
 They walked up the beach a little way, then turned in- 
 land, climbed a dune covered with beachgrass and emerged 
 upon the flat meadows which would soon be the flying field. 
 They walked about among the sheds, the frames of the 
 barracks, and inspected the office building from outside. 
 There were gangs of workmen, carpenters, plumbers and 
 shovelers, but almost no uniforms. Barbara was disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 "But there are soldiers here," she declared. "Mamma 
 said there were, 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'll be enough, officers and men both, but 
 now there's only carpenters and such." 
 
 "But there are some officer ones " insisted Babbie. 
 
 "I wonder Oh, seCj Uncle Jed, through that window 
 see, aren't those soldiers ? They've got on soldier clothes." 
 
 Jed presumed likely that they were. Barbara nodded, 
 sagely. "And they're officers, too," she said, "I'm sure 
 they are because they're in the office. Do they call them 
 officers because they work in offices, Uncle Jed?"
 
 'SHAVINGS" 145 
 
 After an hour's walking about they went back to the 
 place where they had left the boat and Jed set about mak- 
 ing 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 ? You know you did once at our beach at home. And 
 there's the cunningest little pond to sail it on. Mamma 
 would let me sail it there, I know, 'cause it isn't a bit deep. 
 You come and see, Uncle Jed." 
 
 The "pond" was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, 
 left by the outgoing tide. Its greatest depth was not more 
 than a foot. Jed absent-mindedly declared the pond to be 
 safe enough but that he could 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 
 little hill. I guess it blew there. It's blowing ever so 
 much harder up there than it is here on the beach." 
 
 The shingle boat being hurriedly made, its owner begge^ 
 for a paper sail. "The other one you made me had a paper 
 sail, Uncle Jed." 
 
 Jed pleaded that he had no paper. "There's soms 
 wrapped 'round the lunch," he said, "but it's all butter and 
 such. 'T wouldn't be any good for a sail. Er er don't 
 you think we'd better put off makin' the sail till we get home 
 or or somewheres? This chowder is sort of on my con- 
 science this minute." 
 
 Babbie evidently did not think so. She went away on an 
 exploring expedition. In a few minutes she returned, a 
 sheet of paper in her hand. 
 
 "It was blowing around just where I found the shingle,"
 
 146 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 she declared. "It's a real nice place to find things, up on 
 that hill place, Uncle Jed." 
 
 Jed took the paper, looked at it absently he had taken 
 off his coat during the fire-building and his glasses were 
 presumably in the coat pocket and then hastily doubled it 
 across, thrust the mast of the "shingle boat" through it at 
 top and bottom, and handed the craft to his small compan- 
 ion. 
 
 "There!" he observed; "there she is, launched, rigged 
 and all but christened. Call her the the 'Geranium' the 
 'Sunflower' what's the name of that doll baby of yours? 
 Oh, yes, the 'Petunia.' Call her that and set her afloat." 
 
 But Barbara shook her head. 
 
 "I think," she said, "if you don't mind, Uncle Jed, I 
 shall call this one 'Ruth,' that's Mamma's name, you know. 
 The other one you made me was named for Petunia, and 
 we wouldn't want to name 'em all for her. It might make 
 
 her too too Oh, what are those things you make, 
 
 Uncle Jed ? In the shop, I mean." 
 
 "Eh? Windmills?" 
 
 "No. The others those you tell the wind with. I know 
 vanes. It might make Petunia too vain. That's what 
 Mamma said I mustn't be when I had my new coat, the 
 one with the fur, you know." 
 
 She trotted off. Jed busied himself with the chowder. 
 A few minutes later a voice behind him said : "Hi, there !" 
 He turned to see a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a 
 carpenter or workman of some sort, standing at the top 
 of the sand dune and looking down at him with marked 
 interest. 
 
 "Hi, there!" repeated the stranger. 
 
 Jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. 
 "How d'ye do?" he observed, politely. "Nice day, ain't 
 it? . . Hum. , . About five minutes more."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 147 
 
 The workman strode down the bank. 
 
 "Say," he demanded, "have you seen anything of a 
 plan?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Hum. . . . Two plates and two spoons . . . 
 and two tumblers. . . ." 
 
 "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 know what 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 fra- 
 grant, 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 you tryin' to get my goat?" he demanded. "Because 
 if you are you're pretty close to doin' it, I'll tell you that. 
 You answer when I speak to you ; understand ? What are 
 you doin' here?" 
 
 His tone was so loud and emphatic that even Mr. Win- 
 slow could not help but hear and understand. He looked 
 up, vaguely troubled. 
 
 "I I hope you'll excuse me, Mister," he stammered. 
 "I'm afraid I haven't been payin' attention the way I'd 
 ought to. You see, I'm makin' a chowder here and it's 
 just about got to the place where you can't " 
 
 "Look here, you," began his questioner, but he was in- 
 terrupted in his turn. Over the edge of the bank came a 
 young man in the khaki uniform of the United States Army. 
 He was an officer, a second lieutenant, and a very young
 
 148 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 and very new second lieutenant at that. His face was 
 white and he seemed much agitated. 
 
 "What's the matter here?" he demanded. Then, seeing 
 Jed for the first 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 was and what he was doin'. I asked 
 him first if he'd seen the plan " 
 
 "Had he?" broke in the young officer, eagerly. Then, 
 addressing Jed, he said: "Have you seen anything of the 
 plan?" 
 
 Jed slowly shook his head. "I don't know's I know 
 what you mean by a plan," he explained. "I ain't been 
 here very long. I just My soul and body!" 
 
 He snatched the kettle from the fire, took off the cover, 
 sniffed anxiously, and then added, with a sigh of relief, 
 "Whew ! I declare I thought I smelt it burnin'. Saved it 
 just in time. Whew!" 
 
 The lieutenant looked at Jed and then at the workman. 
 The latter shook 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's pretendin' to be, one or the other. Look here, Rube !" 
 he roared at the top of his lungs, "can the cheap talk and 
 answer the lieutenant'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 you whispered a little louder," he said, gently. 
 
 The young officer drew himself up. 'That's enough of 
 this," he ordered. "A plan has been lost here on this res- 
 ervation, a valuable plan, a drawing of well, a drawing 
 that has to do with the laying out of this camp and which 
 might be of value to the enemy if he could get it. It was
 
 "SHAVINGS" 149 
 
 on my table in the office less than an hour ago. Now it is 
 missing. What we are asking you is whether 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. 
 [ just " 
 
 "Well, you are. Who is this fellow? How does he hap- 
 pen to be here? Does any one know?" 
 
 Jed's first interrogator, the big workman, being the only 
 one present beside the speaker and the object of the ques- 
 tion, took it upon himself to answer. 
 
 "I don't know who he is," he said. "And he won't tell 
 why he's here. Looks mighty suspicious to me. Shouldn't 
 wonder if he was a German spy. They're all around 
 everywheres, so the papers say." 
 
 This speech had a curious effect. The stoop in the Win- 
 slow shoulders disappeared. Jed's tall form straightened. 
 When he spoke it was in a tone even more quiet and de- 
 liberate 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 that just now I can't allow anybody to call me. 
 'German' is one and 'spy' is another. And you put 'em 
 both together. I guess likely you was only foolin', wasn't 
 you?" 
 
 The workman looked surprised. Then he laughed. 
 "Shall I call a guard, sir?" he asked, addressing the lieu- 
 tenant. "Better have him searched, I should say. Nine 
 chances to one he's got the plan in his pocket."
 
 150 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 The officer he was very young hesitated. Jed, who 
 had not taken his 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 sud- 
 denly become a negligible factor in the situation, essayed 
 to take command of it. 
 
 "Shut up," he ordered, addressing Winslow. Then tc. 
 the other, "Yes, call a guard. We'll see if we can't get a 
 straight answer from this fellow. Hurry up." 
 
 The workman turned to obey. But, to his surprise, hig 
 path was blocked by Jed, who quietly stepped in front of 
 him. 
 
 "I guess likely, if you wasn't foolin', you'd better take 
 back what you called me," said Jed. 
 
 They looked at each other. The workman was tall and 
 strong, but Jed, now that he was standing erect, was a 
 little taller. His hands, which hung at his sides, were big 
 and his arms long. And in his 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 did end was in an unexpected manner. From the 
 rear of the trio, from the top of the sandy ridge separat- 
 ing the beach from the meadow, a new voice made itself 
 heard. 
 
 "Well, Rayburn, what's the trouble?" it asked. 
 
 The lieutenant turned briskly, so, too, did Mr. Winslow 
 and his vis-a-vis. Standing at the top of the ridge was 
 another officer. He was standing there looking down upon 
 them and, although he was not smiling, Jed somehow con- 
 ceived the idea that he was much amused about something.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 151 
 
 Now he descended the ridge and walked toward the groitp 
 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 this man here on the Government property and 
 and he won't explain what he's doing here. I I asked 
 him if he had seen anything of the plan and he won't an- 
 swer. I was just going to put him under arrest as 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 mustache above a pleasant mouth and a firm 
 chin. The inspection lasted a minute 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 an important one, ain't it? I er I'm flat- 
 tered." 
 
 "Humph ! Well, you realize it now, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Cal'late I'll have to, long's your er chummie there 
 says it's so." 
 
 The expression of horror upon Lieutenant Rayburn's 
 face at hearing himself referred to as "chummie" to his 
 superior officer was worth seeing. 
 
 "Oh, I say, sir!" he explained. The major paid no at- 
 tention. 
 
 "What were you and this man," indicating the big car- 
 penter, "bristling up to each other for?" he inquired. 
 
 "Well, this guy he " began the workman. Major 
 
 Grorer motioned him to be quiet
 
 152 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "I asked the other fellow," he said. Jed rubbed his chin 
 once more. 
 
 "He said I was a German spy," he replied. 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 "No." The answer was prompt enough and emphatic 
 enough. Major Grover tugged at the corner of his mus- 
 tache. 
 
 "Well, I I admit you don't look it," he observed, dryly. 
 "What's your name and who are you?" 
 
 Jed told his name, his place of residence and his busi^ 
 ness. 
 
 "Is there any one about here who knows you, who could 
 prove you were 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 and Squealer Wixon, they're all carpenterin* 
 over here and they're from Orham and know me. Then 
 there's Bluey Batcheldor and Emulous Baker and 'Gawpy' 
 I mean Freddie G. and " 
 
 "There, there! That's quite sufficient, thank you. Do 
 you know any 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 a little girl, daughter of a neighbor of mine. 
 She wanted to see where the soldiers was goin' to fly, so 
 I borrowed Perez Ryder's power dory and we came over. 
 Twas gettin' along dinner time and I built a fire so as to 
 cook. . . . My soul !" with a gasp of consternation, "I for-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 153 
 
 got all about that chowder. And now it's got stone cold. 
 Yes, sir !" dropping on his knees and removing the cover of 
 the kettle, "stone cold or next door to it. Ain't that a 
 shame !" 
 
 Lieutenant Rayburn snorted in disgust. His superior of- 
 ficer, however, merely smiled. 
 
 "Never mind the chowder just now," he said. "So you 
 came over here for a picnic, did you? Little late for pic- 
 nics, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes ye-es," drawled Jed, " 'tis kind of late, but 'twas 
 
 a nice, moderate day and Babbie she wanted to come, 
 ^^ 
 
 "Babbie? That's the little girl? ... Oh," with a nod, 
 "I remember now. I saw a man with a little girl wander- 
 ing about among the buildings a little while ago. Was that 
 you?" 
 
 "Ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . Tut, tut, tut! I'll have 
 to warm this chowder all up again now. That's too bad !" 
 
 Voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of 
 the carpenter and 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, Shav- 
 tn's! Got you took 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. He lives over to Orham. Makes windmills 
 and whirlagigs and such for young-ones to play with. He 
 ain't any spy. His name's Jed Winslow, 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.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Um-hm," he admitted. "I guess likely you're right, 
 Squealer." 
 
 "/ 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, 
 interrupted it now. 
 
 "That would seem to settle the spy question," he said. 
 "You may go, all three of you," he added, turning to the 
 carpenters. They departed, Jed's particular enemy mut- 
 tering to himself and Mr. Wixon laughing 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' 
 a shingle boat I made her. Shall I call her?" 
 
 "No, it isn't necessary. Mr. Winslow, I'm sorry to 
 have put you to all this trouble and to have cooled your 
 er chowder. There is no regulation against visitors to 
 our reservation here just now, although there will be, of 
 course, later on. There is a rule against building fires on 
 the beach, but you broke that in ignorance, I'm sure. The 
 reason why you have been cross-questioned to-day is a 
 special one. A construction plan has been lost, as Lieu- 
 tenant Rayburn here informed you. It was on his desk in 
 the office and it has disappeared. It may have been stolen, 
 of course, or, as both windows were open, it may have 
 blown away. You are sure you haven't seen anything cf 
 it ? Haven't seen any papers blowing about ?" 
 
 "I'm sure it didn't blow away, sir," put in the lieutenant. 
 "I'm positive it was stolen. You see " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence. The expression upon 
 Jed's face caused him to pause. Mr. Winslow's mouth 
 and eyes were opening wider and wider.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 155 
 
 "Sho!" muttered Jed. "Sho, now! . . . 'Tain't pos- 
 sible that ... I snum if ... Sho!" 
 
 "Well, what is it?" demanded both officers, practkally 
 in concert. 
 
 Jed did not reply. Instead he turned his head, put both 
 hands to his mouth and shouted "Babbie!" through them 
 at the top of his lungs. The third shout brought a faint, 
 "Yes, Uncle Jed, I'm coming." 
 
 "What are you calling her for?" asked Lieutenant Ray- 
 burn, forgetting the presence of his superior officer in his 
 anxious impatience. Jed did not answer. He was kneeling 
 beside his jacket, which he had thrown upon the sand when 
 he landed, and was fumbling in the pockets. "Dear me! 
 dear me!" he was muttering. "I'm sartin they must be 
 here. I knoiv I put 'em here because . . . Ow!" 
 
 He was kneeling and holding the coat with one hand 
 while he fumbled in the pockets with the other. Uncon- 
 sciously he had leaned backward until he sat upon his 
 heels. Now, with an odd expression of mingled pain and 
 relief, he reached into the hip pocket of his trousers and 
 produced a pair of spectacles. He smiled his slow, fleet- 
 ing smile. 
 
 "There !" he observed, "I found 'em my way backwards. 
 Anybody else would have found 'em by looking for 'em ; I 
 lost 'em lookin' for 'em and 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 call and had the shingle boat hugged close to her. 
 The water from it had trickled down the front of her 
 dress. Her shoes and stockings were splashed with wet 
 sand. 
 
 "Is dinner ready. Uncle Jed?" she asked, eagerly. Then 
 becoming aware that +^ two strange gentlemen standing
 
 ISO "SHAVINGS" 
 
 by the fire were really and truly "officer ones," she looked 
 wide-eyed up at them and uttered an involuntary "Oh!" 
 
 "babbie," said Jed, "let me see that boat of yours a 
 minute, will you?" 
 
 Babbie obediently handed it over. Jed inspected it 
 through his spectacles. Then he pulled the paper sail 
 from the sharpened stick the mast unfolded it, looked 
 at it, and then extended it at arm'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, 
 remembering in time, drew back. The other took it, gave it 
 a quick glance, and then 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. 
 She wanted 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 noticed that '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, address- 
 ing Barbara. The child looked frightened. Major Grover 
 smiled reassuringly at her and 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 it before it got to the edge of the water. 
 I'm I I'm sorry I gave it to Uncle Jed for a sail. I 
 didn't know and and he didn't either," she added, loy- 
 ally. 
 
 "That's all right, my dear. Of course you didn't know. 
 Well, Rayburn," turning to the lieutenant, "there's your 
 plan. You see it did blow away after all. I think you
 
 "SHAVINGS" 157 
 
 owe this young lady thanks that it is not out in mid-chan- 
 nel by this time. Take it back to the office and see if the 
 holes in it have spoiled its usefulness to any extent." 
 
 The lieutenant, very red in the face, departed, bearing 
 his precious plan. Jed heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "There!" he exclaimed, "now I presume likely I can 
 attend to my chowder." 
 
 "The important things of life, eh?" queried Major 
 Grover. 
 
 "Um-hm. I don't know's there's anything much more 
 important than eatin'. It's a kind of expensive habit, but an 
 awful hard one to swear off of. ... Hum. . . . Speakin' 
 of important things, was that plan of yours very important, 
 Mr. I mean Major?" 
 
 "Rather yes." 
 
 "Sho ! . . . And I stuck it on a stick and set it afloat on 
 a shingle. I cal'late if Sam Hunniwell knew of that he'd 
 say 'twas characteristic. . . . Hum. . . . Sho! ... I read 
 once about a feller that found where the great seal of 
 England was hid and he used it to crack nuts with. I 
 guess likely that feller must have been 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. Mark Twain wrote it." 
 
 "That's so; I remember now. So you've read 'The 
 Prince and the Pauper'?" 
 
 "Um-hm. Read about everything Mark Twain ever 
 wrote, I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 "Do you read a good deal?" 
 
 "Some. . . There ! Now we'll call that chowder done
 
 158 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 for the second 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 I snum I've forgot your name. You 
 mustn't mind; I forget my own sometimes." 
 
 "Grover. I am a major in the Engineers, stationed here 
 for the present to look after this construction work. No, 
 thank you, I should like to stay, but I must go back to my 
 office." 
 
 "Dear, dear! That's too bad. Babbie and I would like 
 first-rate to have you stay. Wouldn't we, Babbie?" 
 
 Barbara nodded. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she said. "And the chowder will be awf'ly 
 good. Uncle Jed's chowders always are." 
 
 "I'm sure of it." Major Grover's look cf surprise was 
 mere evident than 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 Barbara who answered. 
 
 "Not my really uncle," she announced. "He's just my 
 make-believe uncle. He says he's my step-uncle 'cause he 
 comes to our back steps so much. But he's almost better 
 than a real uncle," she declared, emphatically. 
 
 The major laughed heartily and said he was sure of it. 
 He seemed to find the pair hugely entertaining. 
 
 "Well, good-by," he said. "I hope you and your uncle 
 will visit us again 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 
 fool often enough," he observed, "but a spy is a consider'ble 
 worse guess." 
 
 Grover looked at him. "I'm not so sure," he said. "I 
 imagine both guesses would be equally bad. Wei!, good- 
 by. Don't forget to come again."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 159 
 
 "Thank you, thank you. And when you're over to Or- 
 ham drop in some day and see Babbie and me. Anybody 
 the constable or anybody will tell you where I live." 
 
 Their visitor laughed, thanked him, and hurried away. 
 Said Barbara between spoonfuls: 
 
 "He's a real nice officer one, isn't he, Uncle Jed ? Petunia 
 and I like 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 was after four when they started for 
 home. The early October dusk settled down as they en- 
 tered the winding channel between the sand islands and 
 the stretches of beaches. Barbara, wrapped in an old coat 
 of Captain Perez's, which, smelling strongly of fish, had 
 been found in a locker, seemed to be thinking very hard 
 and, for a wonder, saying little. At last she broke the si- 
 lence. 
 
 "That Mr. Major officer man was 'stonished when I 
 called you 'Uncle Jed/ " she observed. "Why, do you 
 s'pose?" 
 
 Jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the 
 eeaweed marking the border of the narrow, shallow chan- 
 nel. 
 
 "I cal'late," he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't 
 noticed how much we look alike." 
 
 It was Barbara's turn to be astonished. 
 
 "But we don't look alike, Uncle Jed," she declared. "Not 
 a single bit." 
 
 Jed nodded. "No-o," he admitted. "I presume that's 
 why he didn't notice it." 
 
 This explanation, which other people might have found 
 somewhat unsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy Miss Arm- 
 trong ; at any rate she accepted it without comment. There
 
 160 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 was another pause in the conversation. Then she said: 
 
 "i don't know, after all, as I ought to call you 'Uncle Jed,' 
 Uncle Jed." 
 
 "Eh? Why not, for the land sakes?" 
 
 " 'Cause uncles make people cry in our family. I heard 
 Mamma crying last night, after she thought I was asleep. 
 And I know she was crying about Uncle Charlie. She 
 cried when they took him away, you know, and now she 
 cries when he's coming home again. She cried awf'ly when 
 they took him away." 
 
 "Oh, she did, eh?" 
 
 "Yes. He used to live with Mamma and me at our 
 house in Middleford. He's awful nice, Uncle Charlie is, 
 and Petunia and T were very fond of him. And then they 
 took him away and we haven't seen 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 operations nowadays; 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 first time. We were having supper, Mamma and 
 he and I, and Nora went to the door when the bell rang 
 and the big policemen came and Uncle Charlie went away 
 with them. And Mamma cried so. And she wouldn't tell 
 me a bit about . . . Oh! oh! I've told about the
 
 "SHAVINGS" 161 
 
 men ! 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 
 to comfort her and succeeded, after a fashion, at least she 
 stopped crying, although she was silent most of the way 
 home. And Jed himself was silent also. He shared her 
 feeling of guilt. He felt that he had been told something 
 which neither he nor any outsider should have heard, and 
 his sensitive spirit found little consolation in the fact that 
 the hearing of it had come through no fault of his. Be- 
 sides, he was not so sure that he had been faultless. He 
 had permitted the child's disclosures to go on when, per- 
 haps, he should have stopped them. By the time the "Ara- 
 minta's" nose slid up on the sloping beach at the foot of 
 the bluff before the Winslow place she held two conscience- 
 stricken culprits instead of one. 
 
 And if Ruth Armstrong slept but little that night, as her 
 daughter said had been the case the night before, she was 
 not the only wakeful person in that part of Orham. She 
 would have been surprised if she had known that her ec- 
 centric neighbor and landlord was also lying awake and 
 mat his thoughts were of her and her trouble. For Jed, 
 llthough he had heard but the barest fragment of the story 
 of "Uncle Charlie," a mere hint dropped from the lips of 
 a child who did not understand the meaning of what she 
 said, had heard enough to make plain to him that the secret 
 which the young widow was hiding from the world was a 
 secret involving sorrow and heartbreak for herself and 
 shame and disgrace for others. The details he did not 
 know, nor did he wish to know them; he was entirely de- 
 void of that sort of curiosity. Possession of the little 
 knowledge which had been given him, or, rather, had been 
 thrust upon him, and which Gabe Bearse would have con- 
 sidered a gossip treasure trove, a promise of greater treas-
 
 162 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ures to be diligently mined, to Jed was a miserable, culpabU 
 thing, like the custody of stolen property. He felt wicked 
 and mean, as if he had been caught peeping under a win- 
 dow shade.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THAT night came a sudden shift in the weather and 
 when morning broke the sky was gray and over- 
 cast and the wind blew raw and penetrating from 
 the northeast. Jed, at work in his stock room sorting a 
 variegated shipment of mills and vanes which were to go 
 to a winter resort on the west coast of Florida, was, as 
 he might have expressed it, down at the mouth. He still felt 
 the sense of guilt of the night before, but with it he felt a 
 redoubled realization of his own incompetence. When he 
 had surmised his neighbor and tenant to be in trouble 
 he had felt a strong desire to help her; now that surmise 
 had changed to certainty his desire to help was stronger 
 than ever. He pitied her from the bottom of his heart; 
 she seemed so alone in the world and so young. She needed 
 a sympathetic counselor and advisor. But he could not 
 advise or help because neither he nor any one else in Orham 
 was supposed to know of her trouble and its nature. Even 
 if she knew that he knew, would she accept the counsel of 
 Shavings Winslow? Hardly! No sensible person would. 
 How the townsfolk would laugh if they knew he had even 
 so much as dreamed of offering it. 
 
 He was too downcast even to sing one of his lugubrious 
 hymns or to whistle. Instead he looked at the letter pinned 
 on a beam beside him and dragged from the various piles 
 one half-dozen crow vanes, one half-dozen gull vanes, one 
 dozen medium-sized mills, one dozen small mills, three 
 sailors, etc., etc., as set forth upon that order. One of 
 the crows fell to the floor and he accidently stepped upon 
 
 163
 
 i64 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 it and snapped its head off. He was gazing solemnly down 
 at the wreck when the door behind him opened and a strong 
 blast of damp, cold wind blew in. He turned and found 
 that Mrs. Armstrong had opened the door. She entered 
 and closed it behind her. 
 
 "Good morning," she said. 
 
 Jed was surprised to see her at such an early hour; also 
 just at that time her sudden appearance was like a sort 
 of miracle, as if the thoughts in his brain had taken shape, 
 had materialized. For a moment he could not regain 
 presence of mind sufficient to return her greeting. Then, 
 noticing the broken vane on the floor, she exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh, you have had an accident. Isn't that too bad! 
 When did it happen?" 
 
 He looked down at the decapitated crow and touched 
 one of the pieces with the toe of his boot. 
 
 "Just this minute," he answered. "I stepped on it and 
 away she went. Did a pretty neat, clean job, didn't I? 
 . . . Um-hm. ... I wonder if anybody stepped on my 
 dead 'twould break like that. Probably not; the wood in 
 t is too green, I cal'late." 
 
 She smiled, but she made no comment on this character- 
 istic bit of speculation. Instead she asked : "Mr. Winslow, 
 are you very busy this morning? Is your work too im* 
 portant to spare me just a few minutes?" 
 
 Jed looked surprised; he smiled his one-sided smile. 
 
 "No, ma'am," he drawled. "I've been pretty busy but 
 'twan't about anything important. I presume likely," he 
 added, "there ain't anybody in Ostable County that can be 
 so busy as I can be doin' nothin' important." 
 
 "And yoj can spare a few minutes? I I want to talk 
 to you very TOuch. I won't be long, really." 
 
 He regard d her intently. Then he walked toward the 
 door leading to the little workroom. "Come right in here,
 
 "SHAVINGS" 165 
 
 ma'am," he said, gravely; adding, after they had entered 
 the other apartment, "Take that 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 com- 
 fortable, I know. Perhaps I'd better get you another one 
 from my sittin'-room in yonder." 
 
 He was on his way to carry out the suggestion, but she 
 interrupted him. "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 containing hardware screws, tacks and metal wash- 
 ers which he used in his mill and vane-making. 
 
 "Sho!" he exclaimed. "Hum! Does seem to be taken, 
 as you say. I recollect now ; a lot of that stuff came in by 
 express day before yesterday afternoon and I piled it up 
 there while I was unpackin' it. Here!" apparently ad- 
 dressing the hardware, "you get out of that. That seat's 
 reserved." 
 
 He stretched a long arm over the workbench, seized the 
 chair by the back and tipped it forward. The pasteboard 
 boxes went to the floor in a clattering rush. One con- 
 taining washers broke open and the little metal rings rolled 
 everywhere. Mr. Winslow did not seem to mind. 
 
 "There!" he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction; "sit 
 right down, ma'am." 
 
 The lady sat as requested, her feet amid the hardware 
 boxes and her hands upon the bench before her. She was 
 evidently very nervous, for her fingers gripped each other
 
 166 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 tightly. And, when she next spoke, she did not look at her 
 companion. 
 
 "Mr. Winslow," she began, "I I believe that is, Bab- 
 bie tells me that that last evening, when you and she were 
 on your way back here in the boat, she said something 
 she told you something concerning our my family af- 
 fairs which which " 
 
 She faltered, seeming to find it hard to continue. Jed 
 did not wait. He was by this time at least as nervous 
 as she was and considerably more distressed and embar- 
 rassed. He rose from the box and extended a protest- 
 ing hand. 
 
 "Now, now, ma'am," he begged. "Now, Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, please please don't say any more. It ain't neces- 
 sary, honest it ain't. She she that child she didn't tell 
 me much of anything anyhow, and she didn't mean to 
 tell that. And if you knew how ashamed and and mean 
 I've felt ever since to think I let myself hear that much! 
 I hope I do hope you don't think I tried to get her to 
 tell me anything. I do hope you don't think that." 
 
 His agitation was so acute and so obvious that she looked 
 at him in wonder for a moment. Then she hastened to 
 reassure him. 
 
 "Don't distress yourself, Mr. Winslow," she said, smil- 
 ing sadly. "I haven't known you very long but I have 
 already learned enough about you to know that you are an 
 honorable man. If I did not know that I shouldn't be 
 here now. It is true that I did not mean for you or any 
 one here in Orham to learn of my of our trouble, and if 
 Babbie had not told you so much I probably should never 
 have spoken to you about it. The poor child's conscience 
 troubled her so last evening that she came crying to me 
 and confessed, and it is because I gathered from her that 
 she had told enough to make you at least guess the truth
 
 "SHAVINGS" 167 
 
 that I am here now. I prefer that you should hear the 
 story just as it is from me, rather than imagine something 
 which 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 ought to do, whether I'd ought to tell you what 
 Babbie said, or just not trouble you at all and try to forget 
 I ever heard it. That's what I decided finally, to forget it ; 
 and I will I vow and declare I will! Don't you tell me 
 anything, and let me forget this. Now please." 
 
 But she shook her head. "Things like that are not so 
 easily forgotten," she said; "even when one tries as hard 
 to forget as I am sure you would, Mr. Winslow. No, I 
 want to tell you; I really do. Please don't say any more. 
 Let me go on. . . . Oh," with a sudden burst of feeling, 
 "can't you see that I must talk with some one 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 was that you mustn't feel you've got to tell 
 me. Course if you want to, that's different altogether. 
 What I'm tryin' to say," he added, with a desperate attempt 
 to make his meaning perfectly clear, "is not to pay any at 
 tention to me at all but do just what you want to, that'v 
 all." 
 
 Even on the verge of tears as she was, she could not 
 forbear smiling a little at this proclamation of complete 
 self-effacement. "I fear I must pay some attention to 
 you," she said, "if I am to confide in you and and per- 
 haps ask your help, your advice, afterwards. I have 
 reached a point when I must ask some one's advice; I 
 have thought myself into a maze and I don't know what
 
 168 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 to do I don't know what to do. I have no near relatives, 
 no friends here in Orham " 
 
 Jed held up a protesting hand. 
 
 "Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered; "I don't 
 know as you recollect, probably it might not have meant 
 as much to you as it did to me; but a spell ago you said 
 somethin' about countin' me as a friend." 
 
 ''I know I did. And I meant it. You have been very 
 kind, and Barbara 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 her asking his counsel was simply a last resort, a 
 desperate, forlorn hope. She had no real confidence in his 
 ability to help. He would have been the last to blame 
 her for this; her estimate of his capabilities was like his 
 own, that was all. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he observed, slowly, "as to givin' my advice, 
 when a man's asked to give away somethin' that's worth 
 nothin' the least he can do is say yes and try to look gen- 
 erous, I cal'late. If I can advise you any, why, I'll feel 
 proud, of course." 
 
 "Thank you. Mr. Winslow, for the past two years or 
 more I have been in great trouble. I have a brother but 
 you knew that; Babbie told you." 
 
 "Um-hm. The one she calls 'Uncle Charlie'?" 
 
 "Yes. He is he is serving his sentence in the Con- 
 necticut State Prison." 
 
 Jed leaned back upon the box. His head struck smartly 
 against the edge of the bandsaw bench, but he did not seem 
 to be aware of the fact. 
 
 "My Lord above!" he gasped. 
 
 "Yes, it is true. Surely you must have guessed some- 
 thing of that sort, after Babbie's story of the policemeo-"
 
 "SHAVINGS" 169 
 
 "I I well, I did sort of of presume likely he must 
 have got into some sort of of difficulty, but I never thought 
 'twas bad as that. . . . Dear me! . . . Dear me!" 
 
 "My brother is younger than I; he is scarcely twenty- 
 three years old. He and I are orphans. Our home was 
 in Wisconsin. Father was killed in a railway accident 
 and Mother and my brother Charles and I were left with 
 very little money. We were in a university town and 
 Mother took a few students as lodgers. Doctor Arm- 
 strong was one; I met him there, and before he left the 
 medical college we were engaged to be married. Charlie 
 was only a boy then, of course. Mother died three years 
 later. Meanwhile Seymour Doctor Armstrong had lo- 
 cated in Middleford, Connecticut, and was practicing medi- 
 cine there. He came on, we were married, and I returned 
 to Middleford with him. We had been married but a few 
 years when he died of pneumonia. That was the year 
 after Babbie was born. Charles remained in Wisconsin $ 
 boarding with a cousin of Mother's, and, after he gradu- 
 ated from high school, entered one of the banks in the 
 town. He was very successful there and the bank people 
 liked him. After Seymour my husband died, he came 
 East to see me at Middleford. One of Doctor Armstrong's 
 patients, a bond broker in New Haven, took a fancy to 
 him, or we thought he did, and offered him a position. He 
 accepted, gave up his place at the bank in Wisconsin, and 
 took charge of this man's Middleford office, making his 
 home with Babbie and me. He was young, too young I 
 think now, to have such a responsible position, but every 
 one said he had a remarkably keen business mind and that 
 
 his future was certain to be brilliant. And then " 
 
 She paused. It was evident that the hard part of her 
 story was coming. After a moment she went on. 
 
 "Charlie was popular with the young people there in
 
 i;o "SHAVINGS' 
 
 Middle ford. He was always a favorite, at home, at school, 
 everywhere. Mother idolized him while she lived, so did I, 
 so did Babbie. He was fond of society and the set he was 
 friendly with was made up, for the most part, of older 
 men with much more money than he. He was proud, he 
 would not accept favors without repaying them, he liked 
 a good time, perhaps he was a little fast; not dissipated 
 I should have 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 
 knee between his harrL>, waited anxiously for her to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 "Of course you can guess what happened," she said, 
 sadly, after a moment. "It was the old story, that is all. 
 Charlie was living beyond his means, got into debt and 
 speculated in stocks, hoping to make money enough to pay 
 those debts. The stocks went down and and well, he 
 took money belonging to his employer to protect his pur- 
 chases." 
 
 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. He isn't bad, Mr. Winslow; JL know him better 
 than any one and he isn't bad. 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 he didn't. . . . Well, I 
 won't tell you how his his fault was discovered; it wouM 
 take a long time and it isn't worth while. They arrested 
 him, he was tried and and sent to prison for two years." 
 
 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,
 
 'SHAVINGS" 171 
 
 gratefully. "Yes, he was sent to prison. He was calm 
 and resigned and very brave about it, but to me it was a 
 dreadful shock. You see, he had taken so little money, 
 not much over two thousand dollars. We could have bor- 
 rowed it, I'm sure; he and I could have worked out the 
 debt together. We could have done it; I would have 
 worked at anything, no matter how hard, rather than have 
 my brother branded all his life with the disgrace of having 
 been in prison. But the man for whom he had worked 
 was furiously angry at what he called Charlie's ingrati- 
 tude ; he would teach the young thief a lesson, he said. Our 
 lawyer went to him; I went to him and begged him not 
 to press the case. Of course Charlie didn't know of my 
 going; he never would have permitted it if he had. But 
 I went and begged and pleaded. It did no good. Why, 
 even the judge at the trial, when he charged the jury, 
 spoke of the defendant's youth and previous good char- 
 acter. . . ." 
 
 She covered her eyes with her hand. Poor Jed's face 
 was a picture of distress, 
 
 "Now now, Mrs. Armstrong," he urged, "don't, please 
 don't. I I wouldn'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 and all 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 this because I realized that Barbara had told you 
 enough to make you imagine everything that was bad con- 
 cerning my brother. And he is not bad, Mr. Winslow. 
 He did a wrong tiling, but I know I know he did not 
 mean deliberately to steal. If that man he worked for had 
 been if he had been But there, he was what he
 
 172 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 was. He said thieves should be punished, and if they were 
 punished when they were young, so much the better, be- 
 cause it might be a warning and keep them honest as they 
 grew older. He told me that, Mr. Winslow, when I 
 pleaded with him not to make Charles' disgrace public and 
 not to wreck the boy's life. That was what he told me 
 then. And they say," she added, bitterly, "that he prides 
 himself upon being a 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't queer they wouldn't be mine, I suppose. If I was 
 er as you might say, first mate of all creation I'd put some 
 church folks in jail and a good many jail folks in church. 
 Seems's if the swap would be a help to both sides. . . . I-^> 
 I hope you don't think I'm er unfeelin', jokin', when 
 you're in such worry and trouble," he added, anxiously. "I 
 didn't mean it." 
 
 His anxiety was wasted. She had heard neither his first 
 remark nor the apology for it. Her thoughts had been far 
 from the windmill shop and its proprietor. Now, appar- 
 ently awakening to present realities, 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 have confided 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 there somethin' else ? Somethin' you wanted to ask 
 my advice about or or somethin'?" 
 
 She smiled faintly. "Yes, there was," she admitted
 
 'SHAVINGS" 173 
 
 "But I don't know that it is worth while troubling you, 
 after all. It is not likely 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 
 to anybody. But I'm awful willin' to try. And some- 
 times, you know sometimes surprisin' things happen. 
 'Twas a a mouse, or a ground mole, wasn't it, that helped 
 the lion in the story book out of the scrape ? . . . Not that 
 I don't look more like a er giraffe than I do like a 
 mouse," he added. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong turned and looked at him once more. 
 "You're very kind," she said. "And I know you mean 
 what you say. . . . Why, yes, I'll tell you the rest. Per- 
 haps," with the slight smile, "you can advise me, Mr. 
 Winslow. You see well, you see, my brother will be 
 freed very shortly. I have received word that he is to be 
 pardoned, his sentence is to be shortened because of what 
 they call his good conduct. He will be free and then? 
 What shall he do then? What shall we all do? That is 
 my problem." 
 
 She went on to explain. This was the situation: Her 
 own income was barely sufficient for Barbara and herself 
 to live, in the frugal way they were living, in a country 
 town like Orham. That was why she had decided to re- 
 main there. No one in the village knew her story or the 
 story of her brother's disgrace. But now, almost any day, 
 her brother might be discharged from prison. He would 
 be without employment and without a home. She would 
 so gladly offer him a home with her they could manage 
 to live, to exist in some way, she said but she knew he 
 would not be content to have her support him. There was 
 no chance of employment in Orham; he would therefore 
 be forced to go elsewhere, to go wandering about looking 
 for work. And that she could not bear to think of.
 
 174 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "You see," she said, "I I feel as if I were the only 
 helper and well guardian the poor boy has. I can im- 
 agine," smiling wanly, "how he would scorn the idea of 
 his needing a guardian, but I feel as if it were my duty 
 to be with him, to stand by him when every one else has 
 deserted him. Besides," after an instant's hesitation, "I 
 feel I suppose it is unreasonable, but I feel as if I had 
 neglected my duty before ; as if perhaps I had not watched 
 him as carefully as I should, or encouraged him to con- 
 fide in me; I can't help feeling that perhaps if I had been 
 more careful in this way the dreadful thing might not 
 have happened. . . . Oh," she added, turning away again, 
 "I don't know why I am telling all these things to you, I'm 
 sure. They can't interest you much, and the telling isn't 
 likely to profit either of us greatly. But I am so alone, 
 and I ha ;e brooded over my troubles so much. As I said 
 I have if t as if I must talk with some one. But there 
 good morning, Mr. Winslow." 
 
 "Just a minute, please, Mrs. Armstrong; just a minute. 
 Hasn't ycur brother got any friends in Middleford who 
 could help him get some work a job you know what I 
 mean? Seems as if he must have, or you must have." 
 
 "Oh, we have, I suppose. We had some good friends 
 there, as well as others whom we thought were friends. 
 But but I think we both had rather die than go back 
 there; I am sure I should. Think what it would mean to 
 both of us." 
 
 Jed understood. She might have been surprised to real- 
 ize how clearly he understood. She was proud, and it 
 was plain to see that she had been very proud of her 
 brother. And Middleford had been her home where she 
 and her husband had spent their few precious years to- 
 gether, where her child was born, where, after her brother
 
 'SHAVINGS" 175 
 
 came, she had watched his rise to success and the appar- 
 ent assurance of a brilliant future. She had begun to be 
 happy once more. Then came the crash, and shame and 
 disgrace instead of pride and confidence. Jed's imagina- 
 tion, the imagination which was quite beyond the com- 
 prehension of those who called him the town crank, grasped 
 it all or, at least, all its essentials. He nodded slowly. 
 
 "I see," he said. "Yes, yes, I see. . . . Hum." 
 
 "Of course, any one must see. And to go away, to 
 some city or town where 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." 
 
 "Urn. . . . 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 
 \ bank?" 
 
 "Why, yes, I told you he did, in Wisconsin, where he and 
 I used to live." 
 
 "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 ceased to speak altogether, staring abstractedly at 
 i crack in *he floor. All at once he began to hum a hymn. 
 Mrs. Armstrong, whose nerves were close to the breaking 
 point, lost patience. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Winslow," she said, and opened the 
 door to the outer shop. This time Jed did not detain her. 
 Tnstead he stared dreamily at the floor, apparently quite 
 unconscious of her or his surroundings. 
 
 "Eh ?" he drawled. "Oh, yes, good mornin', good morn- 
 in*. . . Hum. .
 
 176 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 
 vacancy and 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 of singing them. Once, 
 hearing a step in the yard, he looked through the window 
 and saw Gabriel Bearse walking toward the gate from 
 the direction of the shop door instead of in the opposite 
 direction. Evidently he had at first intended to call and 
 then had changed his mind. Mr. Winslow was duly grate- 
 ful to whoever or whatever had inspired 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 the window, saw Seth Wingate, the vegetable and 
 fruit peddler, walking from the door to the gate, just as 
 Mr. Bearse had done. Apparently Seth had changed his 
 mind also. Jed thought this rather odd, but again he was 
 grateful. He was thinking hard and was quite willing not 
 to be disturbed. 
 
 But the disturbing came ten minutes after Mr. Wingate'a 
 departure and came in the nature of a very distinct dis- 
 turbance. There was a series of thunderous knocks on 
 the front door, that door was thrown violently open, and, 
 before the startled maker of mills could do much more 
 than rise to his feet, the door to the workroom was pulled 
 open also. Captain Hunniwell's bulk filled the opening. 
 Captain Sam was red- faced and seemed excited. 
 
 "\Vel, by the gracious king," he roared, "you're here, 
 What else is the matter with you?" 
 
 177
 
 178 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed, who, after recognizing his visitor, had seated him- 
 self once more, 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' about you, 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 got that sign nailed on your front door out 
 here tellin' all hands you're out for the day and for 'em 
 to ask for you up at Abijah Thompson's?" 
 
 Jed looked much surprised. His hand moved slowly 
 across his chin. 
 
 "Sho!" he drawled. "Sho! Has that sign been hangin 
 there all this forenoon?" 
 
 "Don't ask me. I guess it has from what I've heard. 
 Anyhow it's there 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 his eye. "That explains about Seth Wingate," he mused. 
 "Yes, and Gab Bearse too. . . . Hum. . . . The Lord was 
 better to me than I deserved. 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 diJ 
 you ever put it up for?" 
 
 Jed explained why the placard had been prepared and 
 affixed to the door. "I only meant it for yesterday, 
 though," he added. "I'd intended takin' it down thii 
 mornin'."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 179 
 
 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 it up there because you was goin' cruisin' to 
 the aviation camp and you didn't want callers disturbin' 
 Mrs. Armstrong?" 
 
 His friend nodded. "Um-hm," he admitted. "I sent 
 'em to 'Bije's because he was as far off as anybody I could 
 think of. Pretty good idea, 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 hour or less yesterday there was 
 somebody bangin' at their door asking about you. Every 
 time they banged she says that 'Bije, his nerves bein' on 
 edge the way they are, would pretty nigh jump the quilts 
 up to the ceilin' and himself along with 'em. And his re- 
 marks got more lit up every jump. About five o'clock 
 when somebody came poundin' he let out a roar you could 
 hear a mile. 'Tell 'em Shavin's Winslow's gone to the devil.' 
 he bellowed, 'and that I say they can go there too.' And 
 then Emma J. opened the door and 'twan't anybody askin* 
 about you at all; 'twas the Baptist minister come callin'. 
 I was drivin' past there just now and Emma J. came out 
 to tell me about it. She wanted to know if you'd gone 
 clear crazy instead of part way. I told her I didn't know, 
 but I'd make it my business to find out. Tut, tut, tut ! You 
 are a wonder, Jed." 
 
 Jed did not dispute the truth of this statement. He 
 looked troubled, however. "Sho!" he said; "I'm sorry if 
 I plagued 'Bijah that way. If I'd known he was sick I 
 wouldn't have done it. I never once thought so many 
 folks as one every hour would want to see me this time
 
 i8o "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ot year. Dear me ! I'm sorry about 'Bije. Maybe I'd bet- 
 ter go down and kind of explain it to him." 
 
 Captain Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't," he said. "If I was 
 you I'd explain over the long distance telephone. But, 
 anyhow, I wouldn't worry much. I cal'late Emma J. ex- 
 aggerated affairs some. Probably, if the truth was known, 
 you'd rind not more than four folks came there lookin' 
 for you yesterday. Don't worry, Jed." 
 
 Jed did not answer. The word "worry" had reminded 
 him of his other visitor that morning. He looked so seri- 
 ous that his friend repeated 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 think- 
 in' about you afore you came in. You remember I told 
 you that?" 
 
 "I remember. What have you got on your mind? Any 
 more money kickin' around this glory-hole that you want 
 me to put to your account?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I believe there is some somewheres. 
 Seems to me I put about a hundred and ten dollars, checks 
 and bills and such, away day before yesterday for you to 
 take when you came. Maybe I'll remember where I pu> 
 it before you go. But 'twan't about that I was thinkin' 
 Sam, how is Barzilla Small's boy, Lute, gettin' along in Gu$ 
 Howes' job at the bank?" 
 
 Captain Sam snorted disgust. 
 
 "Gettin' along!" he repeated. "He's gettin' along the 
 way a squid swims, and that's backwards. And, if you 
 asked me, I'd say the longer 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 181 
 
 under the engine-room. The bank'll sink if he stays aboard 
 another month, I do believe. And yet," he added, with a 
 shake of the head, "I don't see but he'll have to stay ; there 
 ain't another available candidate for the job in sight. I 
 'phoned up to Boston and some of our friends are lookin* 
 around up there, but so far they haven't had any suc- 
 cess. This war is makin' young men scarce, that is young 
 men that are good for much. Pretty soon it'll get so that 
 a healthy young feller who ain't in uniform will feel about 
 as much out of place as a hog in a synagogue. Yes, sir! 
 Ho, ho!" 
 
 He laughed in huge enjoyment of his own joke. Jed 
 stared dreamily at the adjusting screw on the handsaw. 
 His hands clasped his knee, his foot was lifted from the 
 floor and began to swing back and forth. 
 
 "Well," queried his friend, "what have you got on your 
 .Tiind? Out with it." 
 
 "Eh? ... On my mind?" 
 
 "Yes. When I see you begin to shut yourself together 
 in the middle like a jackknife and sta^-t swinging that num- 
 ber eleven of yours I know you're thinkin' hard about 
 somethin' or other. What is it this time?" 
 
 "Um . . . well ... er ... Sam, if you saw a chance 
 to get a real 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's all!" 
 
 "Um-hm. . . . Now of course you know I wouldn't do 
 anything to hurt Lute. Not for the world I wouldn't. It's 
 only if you are goin' to let him go " 
 
 "// I am. Either he'll have to let go or the bank will, 
 one or t'other. United we sink, divided one of us may 
 float, that's the way I look at it. Lute'll stay till we can 
 'ocate somebody else to take his job, and no longer."
 
 i82 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Ya-as. . . . Um-hm. . . . Well, I tell you, Sam : Don't 
 you get anybody else till you and I have another talk. It 
 may be possible that 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 to disappoint 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 a little matter of twenty odd years between 
 us, I believe, but otherwise 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 teli 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 ..n say is don't get anybody to fill Lute 
 Small's place till you and I have another talk." 
 
 Captain Sam stared keenly into his friend's face. Jed 
 bore the scrutiny calmly; in fact he didn't seem to be 
 aware of it. The captain 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 feller couldn't open it with a cold chisel. 
 I presume likely you'll tell in your own good time. Now if 
 you'll scratch around and find those checks and things 
 you want me to deposit for you I'll take 'em and be goin\ 
 I'm in a little bit of a hurry this mornin'." 
 
 Jed "scratched around," finally locating the checks and 
 bills in the coffee pot on the shelf in his little kitchen. 
 
 "There !" he exclaimed, with satisfaction, "I knew I put 
 'em somewheres where they'd be safe and where I couldn't 
 fcrget 'em."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 183 
 
 "Where you couldn't forget 'em! Why, you did forget 
 'em, didn't you ?" 
 
 "Um . . . yes ... I cal'late I did this mornin', but 
 that's because I didn't make any coffee for breakfast. If 
 I'd made coffee same as I usually do I'd have found 'em." 
 
 "Why didn't you make coffee this mornin'?" 
 
 Jed's eye twinkled. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "to be honest with you, Sam., 
 'twas because I couldn't find the coffee pot. After I took it 
 down to put this money in it I put it back on a different 
 shelf. I just found it now by accident." 
 
 As the captain was leaving Jed asked one more question. 
 
 "Sam," he asked, "about this bank job now ? If you had 
 a chance to get a bright, smart young man with experience 
 in bank work, you'd hire him, wouldn't you?" 
 
 Captain Hunniwell's answer was emphatic. 
 
 "You bet I would!" he declared. "If I liked his looks 
 and his references were good I'd hire him in two minutes. 
 And salary, any reasonable salary, wouldn't part. us, either. 
 ... Eh? What makes you 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'd worked for, statin' that he was honest and capable and 
 all that. With those I'd hire him m two minutes, as I said. 
 You fetch him along and see So long, Jed. See you later." 
 
 He hustled out, stopping to tear from the outer door 
 the placard directing callers to call at Abijah Thompson's. 
 Jed returned to his box and sat down once more to ponder. 
 In his innocence it had not occurred to him that references 
 would be required. 
 
 That evening, about nine, he crossed the yard and 
 knocked at the back door of the little house. Mrs. Arm-
 
 i&4 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 strong answered the knock; Barbara, of course, was in 
 bed and asleep. Ruth was surprised to see her landlord 
 at that, for him, late hour. Also, remembering the un- 
 ceremonious way in which he had permitted her to depart 
 at the end of their interview that forenoon, she was not 
 as cordial as usual. She had made him her confidant, 
 why she scarcely knew; then, after expressing great in- 
 terest and sympathy, he had suddenly seemed to lose in- 
 terest in the whole matter. She was acquainted with his 
 eccentricities and fits of absent-mindedness, but neverthe- 
 less she had been hurt and offended. She told herself that 
 she should have expected nothing more from "Shavings" 
 Winslow, the person about whom two-thirds of Orham 
 joked and told stories, but the fact remained that she was 
 disappointed. And she was angry, not so much with him 
 perhaps, as with herself. Why had she been so foolish as 
 to tell any one of their humiliation? 
 
 So when Jed appeared at the back door she received him 
 rather coldly. He was quite conscious of the change in 
 temperature, but he made no comment and offered no 
 explanation. Instead he told his story, the story of his in- 
 terview with Captain Hunniwell. As he told it her face 
 showed at first interest, then hope, and at the last radiant 
 excitement. She clasped her hands and leaned toward him, 
 her eyes shining. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Winslow," she cried, breathlessly, "do you 
 mean it? Do you really believe Captain Hunniwell will 
 give my brother a position 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 wages ain't " 
 
 But she interrupted. "But that doesn't make any differ 
 cnce," she cried. "Don't you see it doesn't! The salar
 
 'SHAVINGS" 185 
 
 and all that won't count now. It will be a start for 
 Charles, an opportunity for him to feel that he is a man 
 again, doing a man's work, an honest man's work. And 
 he wiH be here where I can be with him, where we can 
 be together, where it won't be so hard for us to be poor 
 and where there 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 thank you? How can I ever show 
 you how grateful I feel?" 
 
 Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and joy shone 
 in her eager eyes. Her voice broke a little as she uttered 
 the words. Jed looked 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 he and I have been praying for? To give me 
 the opportunity of having him with me? Isn't that any- 
 thing? It is everything. Oh, Mr. Winslow, if you can do 
 this for us " 
 
 "Shsh! Sshh! Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please. You 
 mustn't say I'm doin' 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 thought of it." 
 
 "Perhaps," with a doubtful smile, "but I should never 
 have thought of it. You did because you were thinking for 
 me for my brother and 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 I had asked you to; you didn't even say 
 good-by. You just sat there and let me go. And I didn't 
 understand and "
 
 186 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed put up a hand. His face was a picture of distress. 
 
 "Dear, dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "Did I do that? 1 
 don't remember it, but of course I did if you say so. Now 
 what on earth possessed me to? . . , Eh?" as the idea 
 occurred to him. "Tell me, 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 the tunes was chokin' me to death'' Um-hm, that's 
 the way I sing. And I was singin' when you left me, eh? 
 That means I was thinkin' about somethin'. I told Babbie 
 once, and it's the truth, that thinkin' was a big job with 
 me and when I did it I had to drop everything else, come 
 up into the wind like a schooner, you know, and just lay 
 to and think. . . . Oh, I remember now! You said some- 
 thin' about your brother's workin' in a bank and that set 
 me thinkin' that Sam must be needin' somebody by this 
 time in Lute Small's place." 
 
 ""^ou didn't know he needed any one?" 
 
 "No-o, not exactly ; but I knew Lute, and that amounted 
 to the same thing. Mrs. Armstrong, I do hope you'll for- 
 give me for for singin' and and all the rest of my fool- 
 ish actions." 
 
 "Forgive you! Will you forgive me for misjudging 
 you?" 
 
 "Land sakes, don't talk that way. But there's one thing 
 I haven't said yet and you may not like it. I guess you 
 and your brother'll have to go to Sam and tell him the 
 whole story." 
 
 Her expression changed. "The whole story?" she re- 
 peated. "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 was the only way." 
 
 "But we can't ! Oh. Mr. Winslow, we can't do that."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 187 
 
 "I know 'twill be awful hard for you. But, when I talked 
 to Sam about my havin' a possible candidate for the bank 
 place, the very last thing he said was that he'd be glad to 
 see him providin' his references was all right. I give you 
 my word I'd never thought of references, not till then." 
 
 "But if we tell him tell him everything, we shall only 
 make matters worse, shan't we? Of course he won't give 
 him the position then." 
 
 "There's a chance he won't, that's true. But Sam Hunni- 
 well's a fine feller, there ain't any better, and he likes you 
 and well, he and I have been cruisin' in company for a 
 long spell. Maybe he'll give 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 
 of happiness and elation fade from her face and disap- 
 pointment and discouragement come back to take their 
 places. He pitied her, and he 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 speak- 
 ing that decision aloud : "No, I can't do it." 
 
 "Eh? Can't do what?" 
 
 "I can't have Captain Hunniwell know of our trouble. 
 I came here to Orham, where no one knew me, to avoid 
 that very thing. At home there in Middleford I felt as if 
 every person I met was staring at me and saying, 'Her 
 brother is in prison.' I was afraid to have Babbie play 
 with the other children. I was but there, I won't talk 
 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, any-
 
 188 "SHAVINGS' 
 
 where 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 ! In his mind's eye he saw a vision of 
 the little house closed once more and 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 any- 
 thing like that. Of course 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 the world," she said, "rather than tell Captain Hunni- 
 well the truth about my brother. I told you because Babbie 
 had told you so much already. . . . Oh," turning swiftly 
 toward him, "you won't tell Captain Hunniwell, will you?" 
 
 Before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "Oh, 
 please forgive me," she cried. "I am not myself. I am 
 almost crazy, 1 think. And when you first told me about 
 the position in the bank I was so happy. Oh, Mr. Win slow, 
 isn't there some way by which Charles could have hat 
 chance? Couldn't couldn't he get it and and work there 
 for for a year perhaps, until they all saw what a splendid 
 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 bmshed the tears from her eyes. Poor Jed, miser- 
 able and most unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in 
 his chair. "I I don'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 
 splendid there! And the man who was the head of that
 
 "SHAVINGS" 189 
 
 bank when Charles was there is an old friend of ours, of the 
 family; he has retired now but he would help us if he 
 could, I know. I believe ... I wonder if ... Mr. 
 Winslow, I can't tell any one in Orham of our disgrace 
 and I can't bear to give up that opportunity for my brother. 
 Will you leave it to me for a little while ? Will you let me 
 think it over?" 
 
 Of course Jed said he would and went back to his lit- 
 tle ro^m over the shop. As he was leaving she put out 
 her hand and said, with impulsive earnestness : 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Winslow. Whatever comes of this, 
 or if nothing comes 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 neigh- 
 bors each day, and several times a day, Mrs. Armstrong 
 did not mention her brother or the chance of his employ- 
 ment in the Orham bank. Jed, very much surprised 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 
 a broad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady 
 changed the subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she 
 made it a point of avoiding 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 in- 
 terest and raised her hopes. She seemed to him to be 
 still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act as if 
 under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to 
 leave the affair to her, to let her think it over, so of course 
 he could do or say nothing until she had spoken. But he 
 wondered and speculated a good deal and was vaguely 
 troubled. When Captain Sam Hunniwell called he did no{ 
 again refer to his possible candidate for the position no\t
 
 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 held by Luther Small. And, singularly enough, the cap- 
 tain himself did not mention the subject. 
 
 But one morning almost two weeks after Jed's discus- 
 sion with the young widow she and Captain Hunniwell 
 came into the windmill shop together. Mrs. Armstrong's 
 air of excitement was very much in evidence. Her cheeks 
 were red, her eyes sparkled, her manner animated. Her 
 landlord had never seen her look so young, or, for that 
 matter, so happy. 
 
 Captain Sam began the conversation. He, too, seemed 
 to be in high good humor. 
 
 "Well, Jedidah Wilfred Shavin's'," he observed, face- 
 tiously, "what do you suppose I've got up my sleeve this 
 mornin' ?" 
 
 Jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening. 
 
 "Your arms, I presume likeJy," 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're liable to think you're struck by lightnin'. 
 This lady and I have got 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 
 Orham National a week from next Saturday by a vote of 
 tight to one. The directors 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 Monday mornin' 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 in answer to that look, she spoke. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Winslow," she said, quickly, "my brother is 
 coming to Orham and Captain Hunniwell has given him
 
 "SHAVINGS" 191 
 
 the position. It is really you to whom he owes it all. You 
 thought of it and spoke to the captain and to me." 
 
 "But why in time," demanded Captain Sam, "didn't you 
 tell me right out that 'twas Mrs. Armstrong's brother you 
 had in mind? Gracious king! 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 stand- 
 ing behind the captain and he saw the frightened look in 
 her eyes and the swift movement of her finger to her lips. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said. "I I have. I told Captain Hunni- 
 well of Charlie's experience in the bank in Wisconsin. He 
 has written there and the answer is quite satisfactory, or 
 so he seems to think." 
 
 "Couldn't be better," declared Captain Sam. "Here's the 
 letter from the man that used to be the bank president out 
 there. Read it, Jed, if you want to." 
 
 Jed took the letter and, with a hand which shook a lit- 
 tle, adjusted his glasses and read. It was merely a note, 
 brief and to the point. It stated simply that while Charles 
 Phillips had been in the employ of their institution as 
 messenger, bookkeeper and assistant teller, he had been 
 found honest, competent, ambitious and thoroughly satis- 
 factory. 
 
 "And what more do I want than that?" demanded the 
 captain. "Anybody who can climb up that way afore he's 
 twenty-five will do well enough for yours truly. Course 
 he and I haven't met yet, but his sister and I've met, and 
 I'm not worryin' but what I'll like the rest of the family. 
 Besides," he added, with a combination laugh and groan, 
 "it's a case of desperation with us up at the bank. We've 
 ot to have somebody to ^.us. that leak you was
 
 192 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 about, Jed, and we've got to have 'em immediate, right off 
 quick, at once, or a little sooner. It's a providence, youi 
 brother is to us, Mrs. Armstrong," he declared; "a special 
 providence and no mistake." 
 
 He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late 
 at the bank 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' the kindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the 
 stove with ten dollar bills. So long." 
 
 After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor. 
 His voice shook a little as he spoke. 
 
 "You haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. 
 "You you haven't told him!" 
 
 She shook her head. "I couldn't I couldn't," she de- 
 clared. "Don't look at me like that. Please don't ! I know 
 it is wrong. I feel like a criminal; I feel wicked. But," 
 defiantly, "I should feel more wicked if I had told him and 
 my brother had lost the only opportunity that might have 
 come to him. He will make good, Mr. Winslow. I know 
 he will. He will make them respect him and like him. 
 They can't help it. See !" she cried, her excitement and agi- 
 tation growing; "see how Mr. Reed, the bank president 
 there at home, 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. I wrote that very night when 
 you told me, Mr. Winslow. I explained everything, 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 
 to lie, or to do anything wrong. It was just that he tell of 
 Charles and 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 193 
 
 it again for the same reason to save him and his future, 
 to save us all. I can't help what you think of me. It 
 doesn't matter. All that does matter is that you keep silent 
 and let my brother have his chance." 
 
 Jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put 
 his hand to his forehead. 
 
 "Don't don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong," he begged. 
 "You know you know I don't think anything you've done 
 is wrong. I ain't got the right 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 only person in Orham whom I have trusted. You 
 know that." 
 
 "Why, yes why, yes, I do know it and and I'm ever 
 so much obliged to you. More obliged than I can tell you, 
 I am. Now now would you 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 write you he thought 
 'twas all right for him to send Sam the the kind of let- 
 ter he did send him, the one givin' your brother such a 
 good reference?" 
 
 The color rose in her face and she hesitated before re- 
 plying. 
 
 "No," she confessed, after a moment. "He did not write 
 me that he thought it right to give Captain Hunniwell such 
 a reference. In fact he wrote that he thought it all wrong, 
 deceitful, bordering on the dishonest. He much preferred 
 having Charles go to the captain and tell the whole truth. 
 On the other hand, however, he said he realized that that 
 might mean the end of the opportunity here and perhaps 
 public scandal and gossip by which we all might suffer. 
 And he said he had absolute confidence that Charles was 
 not a criminal by intent, and he felt quite sure that he
 
 194 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 would never go wrong again. If he were still in active 
 business, he said, he should not hesitate to employ him. 
 Therefore, although he still believed the other course safer 
 and better, he would, if Captain Hunniwell wrote, answer 
 as I had asked. And he did answer in that way. 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 difficult to refuse such a plea made in such a way 
 by such a woman. And Jed's heart was anything but hard. 
 
 "Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered, "you don't 
 have to ask me that. Course I believe in the poor young 
 chap. And and I guess likely 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, I guess he's a busi- 
 ness man and he'd ought to know about such things better'n 
 I do. I don't doubt it'll come out fine and we won't worry 
 any more about it." 
 
 "And we will still be friends ? You know, Mr. Winslow, 
 you are the only real friend I have in Orham. And you 
 have been so loyal." 
 
 Jed flushed with pleasure. 
 
 "I I told you ooce," he said, "that my friends gen- 
 erally called me 'Jed.' " 
 
 She laughed. "Very well, I'll call you 'Jed,' she said. 
 "But turn about is fair play and you must call me 'Ruth.' 
 Will you? Oh, there's Babbie calling me. Thank you 
 again, for Charles' sake and my 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 !fe-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 195 
 
 maining, was spent by Mr. Winslow in sitting by the 
 workbench and idly scratching upon a board with the point 
 of the chisel. Sometimes his scratches were meaningless, 
 sometimes they spelled a name, a name which he seemed 
 to enjoy spelling. But at intervals during that day, and 
 on other days which followed, he was conscious of an 
 uneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a 
 dim foreboding. 
 
 Ruth Armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. But 
 had he been as 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 his life he had dealt truthfully with the world, 
 had not lied, or evaded, or compromised. Now he had 
 permitted himself to become a silent 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. It was Ruth who told Jed the 
 news. She came into the windmill shop and, stand- 
 ing 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 been drawing new patterns for the "gull vane" which 
 was to move its wings when the wind blew. This great 
 invention had not progressed very far toward practical per- 
 fection. Its inventor had been busy with other things and 
 had of late rather lost interest in it. But Barbara's interest 
 had not flagged and to please her Jed had promised 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 had asked. 
 
 Ted rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I don't 
 know. I thought 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 to make 'em flap is different. They've got 
 to be put on strong enough so they won't flop off. You see," 
 he added, solemnly, "if they kept floppin' off they wouldn't 
 keep flappin' on. There's all the difference in the world 
 between a flap and flop." 
 
 He was trying to reconcile that difference when Ruth 
 entered the shop. He looked up at her absently. "Mr. 
 Winslow," she began again, "I " 
 
 His reproachful look made her pause and smile slightly 
 n spite of herself.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 197 
 
 "I'm sorry," she said. "Well, then Jed I have some- 
 thing to tell you. My brother will be here to-morrow." 
 
 Jed had been expecting to hear this very thing almost 
 any day, but he 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 word from him this morning." 
 
 Jed's hand moved to his chin. "Hum . . ." he mused. 
 "I guess likely you'll be pretty glad to see him." 
 
 "I shall be at least that," with a little break in her voice. 
 "You can imagine what his coming will mean to me. No, 
 I suppose you can'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 
 agreement concerning names. 
 
 "I'm sure you are. And for my brother's sake and my 
 own I am very grateful to you. Mr. Winslow Jed, I mean 
 you have done so much for 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 least as 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 brother that I have told you of his his trouble, of his 
 having been where he has been, or anything about it. He 
 knows I have not told Captain Hunniwell; I'm sure he 
 will take it for granted that I have told no one. I think it 
 will be so much easier for the poor boy if he can come 
 here to Orham and think that no one knows. And no one
 
 198 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 does 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 I had told any one, I should answer truthfully, tell 
 him that I had told you and explain why I did it And 
 some day I shall tell him whether he asks or not. But when 
 he first comes here I want him to be to be well, as nearly 
 happy as is possible under the circumstances. I want him 
 to meet the people here without the feeling that they know 
 he has been a convict, any of them. And so, unless he 
 asks, I shall not tell him that even you know; and I am 
 sure you will understand and not not " 
 
 "Not say anything when he's around that might let the 
 cat out of the bag. Yes, yes, I see. Well, I'll be careful; 
 you can count on me, 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 she had gone Jed sat there gazing after her. 
 Then he sighed, picked up his pencil and turned again to 
 the drawing of the gull. 
 
 And the following evening young Phillips came. Jed, 
 looking from his shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw 
 up at the gate. Barbara was the first to alight. Philander 
 Hardy came around to the back of the vehicle and would 
 have assisted her, but she jumped down without his assist- 
 ance. Then came Ruth and, after her, a slim young fellow 
 carrying a traveling bag. It was dusk and Jed could not 
 see his face plainly, but he fancied that he noticed a resem- 
 blance to his sister in the way he walked and the carriage of 
 his head. The two went into the little house together and 
 Jed returned to his lonely supper. He was a trifle blue that 
 evening, although he probably would not have confessed it-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 199 
 
 Least of all would he have confessed the reason, which was 
 that he was just a little jealous. He did not grudge his 
 tenant her happiness in her brother's return, but he could 
 not help feeling that from that time on she would not be 
 a? intimate and confidential with him, Jed Winslow, as she 
 had been. After this it would be to this brother of 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, but Jed 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 was Barbara who made the presentation. She came 
 skipping into the windmill shop leading the young man by 
 the hand. 
 
 "Uncle Jed," she said, "this is my Uncle Charlie. He's 
 been away and he's come back and he's going to work here 
 always and live in the bank. No, I mean he's going to work 
 
 in the bank always and live No, I don't, but you know 
 
 what I do mean, don't you, Uncle Jed?" 
 
 Charles Phillips smiled. "If he does he must be a mind- 
 reader, Babbie," he said. Then, extending his hand, he 
 added : "Glad to know you, Mr. Winslow. I've heard a lot 
 about you from Babbie and Sis." 
 
 Jed might have replied that he had heard a lot about him 
 also, but he did not. Instead he said "How d'ye do," shook 
 the proffered hand, and looked the speaker over. What he 
 saw impressed him favorably. Phillips was a good-looking 
 young fellow, with a pleasant smile, a taking manner and a 
 pair of dark eyes which reminded Mr. Winslow of his 
 sister's. It was easy to believe Ruth's statement that he 
 had been a popular favorite among their acquaintances in 
 Middleford: he was the sort the average person would like
 
 200 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 at once, the sort which men become interested in and women 
 spoil. 
 
 He was rather quiet during this first call. Babbie did 
 two-thirds of the talking. She felt it her duty as an older 
 inhabitant to display "Uncle Jed" and his creations for her 
 relative's benefit. Vanes, sailors, ships and mills were 
 pointed out and commented upon. 
 
 "He makes ever}' one, Uncle Charlie," she declared sol- 
 emnly. "He's made every one that's here and oh, lots and 
 
 lots more. He made the 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 he gave it to me for a for 
 
 a What kind of a present was that mill you gave me, 
 
 Uncle Jed, that time when Mamma and Petunia and I were 
 going back to Mrs. Smalley's because we thought you didn't 
 want us to have the house any longer ?" 
 
 Jed looked puzzled. 
 
 "Eh?" he queried. "What kind of a present? I don't 
 know's I understand what you mean." 
 
 "I mean what kind of a present was it It wasn't a 
 Christmas present or a birthday present or anything like 
 that, but it must be some kind of one. What kind of pres- 
 ent would you call it, Uncle Jed ?" 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I guess likely you might call it n 
 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 a windmill, Uncle Jed ?" 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "Well, that's a question," he ad-
 
 "SHAVINGS" 201 
 
 mitted. "But you 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," she said, in her most confidential and grown-up 
 manner. "He says lots of things Petunia and I don't under- 
 stand at all, but he's awful nice, just the same. Mamma 
 says he's choking no, I mean joking when he talks that 
 way and that we'll understand the jokes lots better when 
 we're older. She understands them almost always,' 1 she 
 added proudly. 
 
 Phillips laughed. Jed's slow smile appeared and van- 
 ished. "Looks as 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's size job." 
 
 On the following Monday the young man took up his 
 duties in the bank. Captain Hunniwell interviewed him, 
 liked him, and hired him all in the same forenoon. By the 
 end of the first week of their association as employer and 
 employee the captain liked him still better. 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 of a green crew," he declared. "He had his job 
 jumpin' to the whistle before the second day was over. I 
 declare I hardly dast to wake up mornin's for fear I'll find 
 out our havin' such a smart feller is only a dream and that 
 the livin' calamity is Lute Small. And to think/' he added, 
 "that you knew about him for the land knows how long 
 and would only hint instead of tellin'. I don't know as 
 you'd have told yet if his sister hadn't told first. Eh? 
 Would you ?" 
 
 Jed deliberately picked a loose bristle from his paint 
 brush.
 
 202 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Maybe not," he admitted. 
 
 "Gracious king! Well, why not?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I'm kind of er funny that way. 
 Like to take my own time, I guess likely. Maybe you've 
 noticed it, Sam." 
 
 "Eh? Maybe I've noticed it? A blind cripple that was 
 born deef and dumb would have noticed that the first time 
 he ran across you. What on earth are you doin' to that 
 paint brush ; tryin' to mesmerize it ?" 
 
 His friend, who had been staring mournfully at the 
 brush, now laid it down. 
 
 "I was tryin' to decide," he drawled, "whether it needed 
 hair tonic or a wig. So you like this Charlie Phillips, do 
 you?" 
 
 "Sartin sune I do! And the customers like him, too. 
 Why, old Melissa Busteed was in yesterday and he waited 
 on her for half an hour, seemed so, and when the agony 
 was over neither one of 'em had got mad enough so any- 
 body outside the buildin' would notice it. And that's a 
 miracle that ain't happened in that bank for more'n one 
 year. Why, I understand Melissa went down street tellin' 
 all hands 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 
 smiled slightly 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 of that." 
 
 "All of it? Was there some more?" 
 
 " 'Cordin' to Gabe there was- 'Cordin' to him she sai*
 
 "SHAVINGS" 203 
 
 . . . she said ... 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 Melissa said." 
 
 "Eh? ... Oh, yes, yes. . . . Well, 'cordin' to Gabe she 
 said 'twas a comfort to know there was a place in this 
 town where an unprotected female 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 my notion it's the male that needs protection 
 when Melissa's around. I've seen Lute Small standin' in 
 the teller's cage, tongue-tied and with the sweat standin' on 
 his forehead, while Melissa gave him her candid opinion 
 of anybody that would vote to allow alcohol to be sold by 
 doctors in this town. And 'twas ten minutes of twelve 
 Saturday mornin', too, and there was eight men waitin' 
 their turn in line, and nary one of them or Lute either had 
 the spunk to ask Melissa to hurry. Ho, ho! 'unprotected 
 female' is good!" 
 
 He had his laugh out and then added: "But there's no 
 doubt that Charlie's goin' to be popular with the women. 
 Why, even Maud seems to take a shine to him. Said she 
 was surprised to have me show such good judgment. 
 Course she didn't really mean she was surprised," he 
 hastened to explain, evidently fearing that even an old 
 friend like Jed might think he was criticizing his idolized 
 daughter. "She was just teasin' her old dad, that's all. 
 But I could see that Charlie kind of pleased her. Well, he 
 pleases me and 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
 
 304 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 magnanimously. "You don't really deserve 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 between 
 friends, eh? That's what Bluey Batcheldor said the other 
 day when he came in and wanted to borrow a hundred 
 dollars on his personal note. Ho! ho!" 
 
 Captain Sam's glowing opinion of his paragon was soon 
 echoed by the majority of Orham's population. Charlie 
 Phillips, although quiet and inclined to keep to himself, was 
 liked by almost every one. In the bank and out of it he 
 was polite, considerate and always agreeable. During 
 these first days Jed fancied that he detected in the young 
 man a certain alert dread, a sense of being on guard, a 
 reserve in the presence of strangers, but he was not sure 
 that this was anything more than fancy, a fancy inspired 
 by the fact that he knew the boy's secret and was on the 
 lookout for something of the sort. At all events no one 
 else appeared to notice it and it became more and more evi- 
 dent that Charlie, as nine-tenths of Orham called him 
 within a fortnight, was destined to be the favorite here 
 that, 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 jank clerk, was bitter 
 in his sneers and caustic in his comments. However, as 
 Lute loudly declared that he was just going to quit any- 
 how, that he wouldn't have worked for old Hunniwell 
 another week if he was paid a million a minute for it, his 
 hatred of his successor seemed rather unaccountable. 
 Barzilla Small, Luther's fond parent, also professed intense 
 dislike for the man now filling his son's position in the bank. 
 "I don't know how 'tis," affirmed Barzilla, "but the fust 
 time I see that young upstart I says to myself: 'Young 
 feller, you ain't my kind.' This remark being repeated to
 
 "SHAVINGS" 205 
 
 Captain Sam, the latter observed: 'That's gospel truth and 
 thank the Lord for it.' " 
 
 Another person who refused to accept Phillips favorably 
 was Phineas Babbitt. Phineas's bitterness was not the sort 
 to sweeten over night He disliked the new bank clerk 
 and he told Jed Winslow why. They met at the post office 
 Phineas had not visited the windmill shop since the day 
 when he received the telegram notifying him of his son's 
 enlistment and some one of the group waiting for the 
 mail had happened to speak of Charlie Phillips. "He's a 
 nice obligin' young chap," said the speaker, Captain Jere- 
 miah Burgess. "I like him fust-rate; everybody does, I 
 guess." 
 
 Mr. Babbitt, standing apart from the group, his bristling 
 chin beard moving as he chewed his eleven o'clock allow- 
 ance of "Sailor's Sweetheart," turned and snarled over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "I don't," he snapped. 
 
 His tone was so sharp and his utterance so unexpected 
 that Captain Jerry jumped. 
 
 "Land of Goshen! You bark like a dog with a sore 
 mroat," he exclaimed. "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 got against him, Phin? You don't know anything to 
 his discredit, do you?" 
 
 "Never you mind whether I do or not." 
 
 Captain Jerry grunted but seemed disinclined to press 
 the point further. Every one was surprised therefore 
 when Jed Winslow mov^d across to where Phineas was 
 standing, and looking mildly down at the little man, asked : 
 "Do you know anything against him, Phin ?" 
 
 "None of your business. What are you buttin' in for, 
 Shavin's?"
 
 206 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "I ain't. I just asked you, that's all. Do you know 
 anything against 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 into a laugh. Mr. Babbitt's always simmer- 
 ing temper boiled over. 
 
 "No, I don't," he shouted. "But I don't know anything 
 in his favor, neither. He's a pet of Sam Hunniwell and 
 that's enough for me. 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 not change an atom. "Thank you, Phin," he drawled. 
 "When I'm ready to start I'll get you to give me a letter of 
 introduction." 
 
 Jed had been fearful that her brother's coming might 
 lessen the intimate quality of Ruth Armstrong's friendship 
 with and dependence upon him. He soon discovered, to 
 his delight, that these fears were groundless. He found 
 that the very fact that Ruth had made him her sole con- 
 fidant provided a common bond which brought them closer 
 together. Ruth's pride in her brother's success at the 
 bank and in the encomiums of the townsfolk had to find 
 expression somewhere. She could express them to her 
 landlord and she did. Almost every day she dropped in at 
 the windmill shop for a moment's call and chat, the subject 
 of that chat always, of course, the same. 
 
 "I told you he would succee^, ' she declared, her eyes 
 shining and her face alight. "I told you so, Jed. And he 
 has. Mr. Barber, the cashier, told me yesterday that 
 Charles was the best man they had had in the bank for 
 years. And every time I meet Captain Hunniwell he stop:.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 207 
 
 to shake hands and congratulates me on having such a 
 brother. And they like him, not only because he is suc- 
 cessful in the bank, but for himself; so many people have 
 told me so. Why, for the first time since we came to 
 Orham I begin to feel 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 
 family boasting," she added, with a little laugh. "It is 
 only because I am 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 of what she was saying. He was thinking how 
 her brother's coming had improved her, how well she was 
 look/"", how much more color there was 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 a lucky day for him when the Powlesses frightened 
 him into letting Barbara and her mother move into the old 
 house for a month's trial. 
 
 Of course he did not express these thoughts aloud, in 
 fact he expressed nothing whatever- He thought and 
 thought and, after a time, gradually became aware that 
 there was absolute silence in the shop. He looked at his 
 caller and found that she was regarding him intently, a 
 twinkle in her eye and an amused expression about her 
 mouth. 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 the opposite." 
 
 "Eh? Oh. yes, so 'tis, so 'tis." 
 
 "Of course. And just what did you say about it?" 
 
 Jed was confused. He swallowed hard, hesitated, swal-
 
 ao8 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 lowed again and stammered: "I Why, I that is- 
 
 you see " 
 
 She laughed merrily. "You are a very poor pretender, 
 Jed," she declared. "Confess, you haven't the least idea 
 what opinion I mean." 
 
 "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 been sitting there for the last five minutes, staring 
 straight at me and picking that paint brush to pieces. I 
 doubt if you even knew I was here." 
 
 "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? Now what do you suppose I did that for? I'm 
 scared to death, when I have one of those go-to-sleeptic fits, 
 that I'll pick my head to pieces. Not that that would be as 
 big a loss as a good paint brush," he added, reflectively. 
 
 His visitor smiled. "I think it would," she said. 
 "Neither Babbie nor I could afford to lose that head ; it and 
 its owner have been too thoughtful and kind. But tell me, 
 what were you thinking about just then ?" 
 
 The question appeared to embarrass Mr. Winslow a good 
 deal. He colored, fidgeted and stammered. "Nothin', 
 nothin' of any account," he faltered. "My er my brain 
 was takin' a walk around my attic, I cal'late. There's 
 plenty of room up there for a tramp." 
 
 "No, tell me ; 1 want to know." Her expression changed 
 and she added: "You weren't thinking of of Charles' 
 his trouble at Middleford? You don't still think me 
 wrong in not telling Captain Hunniwell ?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Oh, no, no. I wasn't thinkin' that at all." 
 
 "But you don't answer my question. Well, never mind 
 I am really almost happy for the first time in ever so long 
 and I mean to remain so if I can. I am glad I did not
 
 'SHAVINGS" 209 
 
 tell glad. And you must agree with me, Mr. Winslow 
 Jed, I mean or I shall not run in so often to talk in this 
 confidential way." 
 
 "Eh? Not run in? Godfreys, Mrs. Ruth, don't talk 
 so ! Excuse my strong language, but you scared me, talkin' 
 about not runnin' in." 
 
 "You deserve to be scared, just a little, for criticizing me 
 in your thoughts. Oh, don't think me frivolous," she 
 pleaded, with another swift change. "I realize it was all 
 wrong. And some time, by and by, after Charles has 
 firmly established himself, after they really know him, I 
 shall go to the bank people, or he will go to them, and tell 
 the whole story. By that time I'm sure I'm sure they 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 ques- 
 tion that had been in his thoughts for some time, he said: 
 "How does your brother feel about it himself, Mrs. Ruth ?" 
 
 "At first he thought he should tell everything. He did 
 not want to take the position under false pretenses, he 
 said. But when I explained how he might lose this oppor- 
 tunity and what an opportunity it might be for us all he 
 agreed that perhaps it was best to wait. And I am sure it 
 is best, Jed. But then, I mean to put the whole dreadful 
 business from my mind, if I can, and be happy with my 
 little girl and my brother. And I am happy ; I feel almost 
 like a girl myself. So you mustn't remind me, Jed, and 
 you mustn't criticize me, even though you and I both know 
 you are right. You are my only confidant, you know, and 
 I don't know what in the world I should do without you, so 
 try to bear with me, if you can." 
 
 Jed observed that he guessed likely there wouldn't be 
 much trouble at his end of the line, providing she could 
 manage to worry along with a feller that went to sleep
 
 210 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 sittin' up, and in the daytime, like an owl. After she had 
 gone, however, he again relapsed into slumber, and his 
 dreams, judging by his expression, must have been pleasant. 
 
 That afternoon he had an unexpected visit. He had just 
 finished washing his dinner dishes and he and Babbie were 
 in the outer shop together, when the visitor came. Jed 
 was droning "Old Hundred" with improvisations of his 
 own, the said improvising having the effect of slowing 
 down the already extremely deliberate anthem until the re- 
 sult compared to the original was for speed, as an oyster 
 scow compared to an electric launch. This musical crawl 
 he used as an accompaniment to the sorting and piling of 
 various parts of an order just received from a Southern 
 resort. Barbara was helping him, at least she called her 
 activities "helping." When Jed had finished counting a 
 pile of vanes or mill parts she counted them to make sure. 
 Usually her count and his did not agree, so both counted 
 again, getting in each other's way and, as Mr. Winslow 
 expressed it, having a good time generally. And this re- 
 mark, intended to be facetious, was after all pretty close 
 to the literal truth. Certainly Babbie was enjoying herself, 
 and Jed, where an impatient man would have been frantic, 
 was enjoying her enjoyment. Petunia, perched in lop- 
 sided fashion on a heap of mill-sides was, apparently, 
 superintending. 
 
 "There !" declared Jed, stacking a dozen sailors beside a 
 dozen of what the order called "birdhouses medium 
 knocked down." "There! that's the livin' last one, I do 
 believe. Hi hum! Now we've got to 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." 
 " T)i de di de '
 
 'SHAVINGS" 211 
 
 Now where on earth have I put that pencil, Babbie? 
 Have I swallowed it? Don't tell me you've seen me swal- 
 low it, 'cause that flavor 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 
 dumb animals, don't it? That lead-pencil knew enough to 
 realize that my ear was so big that anything short of a 
 cord- wood stick could hide behind it. Tut, tut ! Sur- 
 prisin', 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 she sagely shook her head and declared : "Uncle Jed, 
 I think you are perfectly scru-she-aking. Petunia and I 
 
 are convulshed. We " she stopped, listened, and then 
 
 announced: "Uncle Jed, I think somebody came up the 
 walk." 
 
 The thought received confirmation immediately in the 
 form of a knock at the door. Jed looked over his spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 "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 along comes a customer and you have 
 to get another one ready. If I'd known 'twas goin' to be 
 like this I'd never have gone into business, would you? 
 But maybe 'tain't a customer, maybe it's Cap'n Sam or 
 Gabe Bearse or somebody. . . . They wouldn't knock, 
 though, 'tain't likely; anyhow Gabe wouldn't. . . . Come 
 in," he called, as the knock was repeated.
 
 212 -'SHAVINGS" 
 
 The person who entered the shop was a tall man in 
 uniform. The afternoon was cloudy and the outer shop, 
 piled high with stock and lumber, was shadowy. The man 
 in uniform looked at Jed and Barbara and 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 
 excitement of the discovery which had just flashed upon 
 her, she uttered an exclamation. 
 
 "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 in- 
 voluntary outburst, 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't you?" he added, apologetically, turning to the caller. 
 "She's made a mistake ; she thinks she knows you, I guess." 
 
 "But I do, Uncle Jed. Don't you remember? Over at 
 the flying place?" 
 
 The officer himself took a step forward. 
 
 "Why, of course," he said, pleasantly. "She is quite 
 right. I thought your faces were familiar. You and she 
 were over at the camp that day when one of our construc- 
 tion plans was lost. She found it for us. And Lieutenant 
 Rayburn and I have been grateful many times since," he 
 added.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 213 
 
 Jed recognized him then. 
 
 "Well, I snum!" he exclaimed. "Of course! Sartin! 
 If it hadn't been for you I'd have lost my life and Babbie'd 
 have lost her clam chowder. That carpenter feller would 
 have had me hung for a spy in ten 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, worse luck, 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 Tines' or 
 'Bushes' or somethin'. . . . But there, sit down, sit down. 
 I'm awful glad you dropped in. I'd about given up hopin' 
 you would." 
 
 He brought forward a chair, unceremoniously dumping 
 two stacks of carefully sorted and counted vanes and 
 sailors from its seat to the floor prior to doing so. Major 
 Grover declined to sit. 
 
 "I should like to, but I mustn't," he said. "And I 
 shouldn't claim credit 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 and stopped at the telegraph office. When I came 
 out my car refused to go; the self-starter appears to have 
 gone on a strike. I had left my crank at the camp and my 
 only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow one somewhere. 
 I asked the two or three fellows standing about the tele- 
 graph office where I might be likely to find one. No one 
 seemed to know, but just then the old grouch excuse me, 
 person who keeps the hardware store came along."
 
 214 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Eh? Phin Babbitt? Little man with the stub of a 
 paint brush growin' on his chin ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's the one. I asked him where I should be 
 likely to find a crank. He said if I came across to this 
 shop I ought to find one." 
 
 "He did, eh? ... Hum!" 
 
 "Yes, he did. So I came." 
 
 "Hum;" 
 
 This observation being neither satisfying nor particularly 
 illuminating, Major Grover waited for something more ex- 
 plicit. He waited in vain; Mr. Winslow, his eyes fixed 
 upon the toe of his visitor's military boot, appeared to be 
 mesmerized. 
 
 "So I came," r^eated 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 the shade across and down the road in the direc- 
 tion of the telegraph office. 
 
 "Phineas," he drawled, musingly, "and Squealer and 
 Lute Small and Bluey. Hu-u-m ! . . . Yes, yes." 
 
 He turned away from the window and began intoning a 
 hymn. Major Grover seemed to be divided between a 
 desire to laugh and a tendency 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 I should like to try it." 
 
 Jed sighed. "There's a crank here," he drawled, "but 
 it wouldn't be 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 why Phineas sent you to my shop. He said
 
 "SHAVINGS" 215 
 
 you ought to find a crank here. He was right, I'm 'most 
 generally in." 
 
 This statement was made quietly, deliberately and with 
 no trace of resentment. Having made it, the speaker be- 
 gan picking up the vanes and 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 fel- 
 low sent me over 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 in his own way." 
 
 "Well, it's not my way. He sends me over here to make 
 an ass of myself and insult you " 
 
 "Now, now, Major, excuse me. Phin didn't have any 
 idea that you'd insult me. You see," with the fleeting 
 smile, "he wouldn't believe anybody 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, signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 "Yes, I know. But maybe we might get the same good 
 or more in a different way. . . . Hum! . . . What er 
 brand of automobile is yours?" 
 
 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.
 
 216 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Eh ! . . . Well, I tell you ; you sit down and let Babbie 
 talk Petunia to you a minute or two. I'll be right back." 
 
 He hurried into the back shop, closing the door after him. 
 A moment later Grover caught a glimpse of him crossing 
 the back yard and disappearing over the edge of the bluff. 
 
 "Where in the world has the fellow gone?" he solilo- 
 quized aloud, amused although impatient. Barbara took 
 it upon herself to answer. Uncle Jed had left the caller in 
 her charge and she felt her responsibilities. 
 
 "He's gone down the shore path," she said. "I don't 
 know where else 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't think so at first, but it turns out that way. 
 Mamma says he is petunia no, I mean peculiar but but 
 very re-li-a-ble," the last word conquered after a visible 
 struggle. "She says if you do what he tells you to you 
 will be 'most always glad. / think 'always' without any 
 'most,' " she added. 
 
 Major Grover laughed. "That's a reputation for in- 
 fallibility worth having," he observed. 
 
 Barbara did not know what he meant but she had no 
 intention of betraying that fact. 
 
 "Yes," she agreed. A moment later she suggested: 
 "Don't you think you'd better sit down? He told you to, 
 you know." 
 
 "Great Scott, so he did ! I must obey orders, mustn't I ? 
 But he told 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 atti- 
 tude.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 217 
 
 "She is my oldest daughter," continued Barbara. "She's 
 very advanced for her years." 
 
 "Dear me!" 
 
 "Yes. And . . . oh, here comes Mamma!" 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong entered the shop. The major rose. Bar- 
 bara did the honors. 
 
 "I was just going to come in, Mamma," she explained, 
 "but Uncle Jed asked me to stay and talk to Mr. I mean 
 Major Grover till he came back. 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 at the flying 
 place that day when I found the plan paper and he made 
 a shingle boat sail out of it." 
 
 Ruth came forward. She had been walking along the 
 edge of the bluff, looking out over the tumbled gray and 
 white water, and the late October wind had tossed her hair 
 and brought the color to her cheeks. She put out her hand. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said. "How do you do, Major Grover? 
 I have heard a great deal about you since the day of Bab- 
 bie's picnic. I'm sure I owe you an apology for the trouble 
 my small daughter must have caused that day." 
 
 She and the major shook hands. The latter expressed 
 himself as being very glad to meet Mrs. Armstrong. He 
 looked as if he meant it. 
 
 "And no apologies are due, not from your side at least," 
 he declared. "If it had not been for your little girl our 
 missing plan might have been missing yet." 
 
 Fifteen minutes elapsed before the owner of the windmill 
 shop returned. When he did come hurrying up the bluff 
 and in at the back door, heated and out of breath, no one 
 seemed to have missed him greatly. Major Grover, who 
 might reasonably have been expected to show some irrita- 
 tion at his long wait, appeared quite oblivious of the fact 
 that he had waited at all. He and Barbara were seated
 
 2i8 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 side 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 going up in a in a diggible balloon. 
 It was awf 'ly interesting. Wasn't it, Mamma ?" 
 
 Her mother laughingly agreed that it was. Jed, whose 
 hands were full, deposited his burden upon another pack- 
 ing case. The said burden consisted of no less than three 
 motor car cranks. Grover regarded them with surprise. 
 
 "Where in the world did you get those?" he demanded. 
 "The last I saw of you you were disappearing ovei that 
 bank, apparently headed out 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 
 borrowed these 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 not down by the beach, either. What do you mean, 
 Jed?" 
 
 Jed was standing by the front window, peeping out. 
 "Um-hm," he said, musingly, "they're still there, the whole 
 lot of 'm, waitin' for you to come out, Major. . . . Hum 
 . . . dear, dear! And they're all doubled up now laughin' 
 ahead of time. . . . Dear, dear! this is a world of dis* 
 appointment, sure enough." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" demanded Major Grover, 
 
 "Jed!" exclaimed Ruth. 
 
 Barbara said nothing. She was accustomed to her Uncle 
 Jed's vagaries and knew that, in his own good time, an 
 explanation would be forthcoming. It came now. 
 
 "Why, you see," said Jed, "Phin Babbitt and the rest
 
 'SHAVINGS" 219 
 
 sendin' you over 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 see you come out of here empty- 
 handed and so b'ilin' mad that you froth over. 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 you might say. See?" 
 
 Grover laughed. "Yes, I see that plain enough," he 
 agreed. "And I'm certainly obliged to you. I owed those 
 fellows one. But what I don't see is how you got those 
 cranks by going down to the seashore." 
 
 "W-e-e-11, if I'd gone straight up the road to Rogers's our 
 jokin' friends would have known that's where the cranks 
 came from. I wanted 'em to think they came from right 
 here. So I went over the bank back of the shop, where 
 they couldn't see me, along the beach till I got abreast of 
 Joshua's and then up across lots. I came back the way 
 I went. I hope those things '11 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 my account." 
 
 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 after- 
 noon, gathered up his cranks and turned to the door. 
 
 "I'll step over and start the car," he said, "Then I'll 
 come back and return these things." 
 
 Jed shook his head. "I wouldn't," he said. "You may 
 stop again before you get back to Bayport. Rogers is in no 
 hurry for 'em, he said so. You take 'em along and fetch 
 'em in next time you're over. I want you to call again any-
 
 220 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 how and these cranks '11 make a good excuse for doin' it," 
 he added. 
 
 "Oh, I see. Yes, so they will. With that understand- 
 ing I'll take them along. Thanks again and good after- 
 noon." 
 
 He hastened across the street. The two in the shop 
 watched from the window until the car started and moved 
 out of sight. The group by the telegraph office seemed 
 excited about something; they laughed 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 a good 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 summer cottages were closed. Orham 
 settled down for its regular winter hibernation. 
 This year it was a bit less of a nap than usual because of 
 the activity at the aviation camp at East Harniss. The 
 swarm of carpenters, plumbers and mechanics was larger 
 than ever there now and the buildings were hastening to- 
 ward completion, for the first allotment of aviators, sol- 
 diers and recruits was due to arrive in March. Major 
 Grover was a busy and a worried man, but he usually 
 found time to drop in at the windmill shop for a moment 
 or two on each of his brief motor trips to Orham. Some- 
 times he found Jed alone, more often Barbara was there 
 also, and, semi-occasionally, Ruth. The major and Charles 
 Phillips met and appeared to like each other. Charles was 
 still on the rising tide of local popularity. Even Gabe 
 Bearse had a good word to say for him 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 hard- 
 ware dealer, "to bow down afore a slick tongue and a good- 
 lookin' figgerhead. He's one of Sam Hunniwell's pets and 
 that's enough for me. Anybody that ties up to Sam Hunni- 
 well must have a rotten plank in 'em somewheres; give it 
 time and 'twill come out." 
 
 Charles and Jed Winslow were by this time good friends. 
 The young man usually spent at least a few minutes of 
 each day chatting with his eccentric neighbor. They were 
 
 221
 
 222 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 becoming more intimate, at times almost confidential, al- 
 though Phillips, like every other friend or acquaintance 
 of "Shavings" Winslow, was inclined to patronize or con- 
 descend a bit in his relations with the latter. No one took 
 the windmill maker altogether seriously, not even Ruth 
 Armstrong, although she perhaps came nearest to doing 
 so. Charles would drop in at the shop of a morning, in 
 the interval between breakfast and bank opening, and, 
 perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench, would dis- 
 cuss various things. He and Jed were alike in one char- 
 acteristic each had the habit of absent-mindedness and 
 lapsing into silence in the middle of a conversation. Jed's 
 lapses, of course, were likely to occur in the middle of a 
 sentence, even in the middle of a word; with the younger 
 man the symptoms were not so acute. 
 
 "Well, Charlie," observed Mr. Winslow, on one occasion, 
 a raw November morning of the week before Thanks- 
 giving, "how's the bank gettin' along?" 
 
 Charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had 
 been of late. He appeared to be somewhat reflective, even 
 somber. Jed, on the lookout for just f ,h 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'd call strenuous." 
 
 "No, I presume likely not, but I shouldn't wonder if 
 they gave you somethin' more responsible some of these 
 days. They know you're up to doin' it; Cap'n Sam's told 
 me so more'n once." 
 
 Here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. Phil- 
 lips said nothing for a minute or more. Then he asked: 
 "What sort of a man is Captain Hunniwell?" 
 
 "Eh? What sort of a man? You ought to know him
 
 'SHAVINGS" 223 
 
 yourself pretty well 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 what sort of man is he er inside? Is he always 
 as good-natured as he seems? How is he around his own 
 house? With his daughter or or things like that? 
 You've known him all your life, you know, and I haven't." 
 
 "Um ye-es yes, I've known Sam for a good many 
 years. He's square all 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 
 to honesty had not been made with any ulterior motive. 
 
 "Sartin, sartin," he said; "I know you wasn't, Charlie, 
 course I know that. You wanted to know what sort of 
 a man Sam was in his family and such, I judge. Well, 
 he's a mighty good father almost too good, I suppose 
 likely some folks would say. He just bows down and wor- 
 ships that daughter of his. Anything Maud wants that he 
 can give 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 A ew mournful 
 bars and sharpened a chisel on an oilstone. 
 
 "If John D. Vanderbilt should come around courtin' 
 Maud," he went on, after a moment, "I don't know as Sam 
 would cal'late he was good enough for her. Anyhow he'd 
 feel that 'twas her that was doin' the favor, not John D. 
 . . . And I guess he'd be right ; I don't know any Vander- 
 
 bilts, but I've known Maud since she was a baby. She's 
 a " 
 
 He paused, inspecting a nick in the chisel edge. Again 
 Phillips shifted in his seat on the edge of the workbench. 
 "Well?" he asked.
 
 224 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 about Maud Hunniwell. You said you had known 
 her since she was a baby and 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 a mighty nice girl, as nice as she is good-lookin' and 
 lively. There's a dozen young chaps in this county crazy 
 about her this minute, 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 
 in evidence. Jed would have liked to cheer him up, but 
 he did not know 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 ex- 
 citement. She's going to school next Monday, you know. 
 You'll rather miss her about the shop here, won't you?" 
 
 "Miss her! My land of Goshen! I shouldn't be sur- 
 prised if I follered her to school myself, like Mary's little 
 lamb. Miss Ler ! Don't talk !" 
 
 "Well, so long. . . . What is it?" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "What is it you want to say ? You look as if you wanted 
 to say something." 
 
 "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 a long time. You've made a great hit with Sis 
 Jed," he added, with a laugh. "She can't say enough good 
 things about you. Says you are her one dependable in 
 Orham, or something like that."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 225 
 
 Jed's face turned a bright red. "Oh, sho, sho !" he pro- 
 tested, "she mustn't talk that way. I haven't done any- 
 thing." 
 
 "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 young Phillips there were one or two things about 
 it which puzzled him. They were still puzzling him when 
 Maud Hunniwell came into the shop. Maud, in a new fall 
 suit, hat and fur, was a picture, a fact of 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 fly in, so to speak. Real glad to see you, Maud. 
 Sit down, sit down. There's a chair 'round here some- 
 
 wheres. Now where ? Oh, yes, I'm sittin' in it. Hum ! 
 
 That's one of the reasons why I didn't see it, I presume 
 likely. You take it and I'll fetch another from the kitchen. 
 No, I won't, I'll sit on the bench. . . . Hum . . . has your 
 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-11, I didn't know. That dress of yours, and that 
 new bonnet, must have used up consider'ble, to say nothin' 
 of that woodchuck you've got 'round your neck. 'Tis a 
 woodchuck, ain't it ?" he added, solemnly. 
 
 "Woodchuck! Well, I like that! If you knew what a 
 silver fox costs and how long I had to coax before I got 
 this one you would be more careful in your language," she 
 declared, with a toss of her head. 
 
 Jed sighed. "That's the trouble with me," he observed. 
 "I never know enough to pick out the right things or 
 folks to be careful with. If I set out to be real toady and
 
 226 
 
 humble to what I think is a peacock it generally turns out 
 to be a Shanghai rooster. And the same when it's t'other 
 way about. It's a great gift to be able to tell the real er 
 what is it ? gold foxes from the woodchucks in this life. 
 I ain't got it and that's one of the two hundred thousand 
 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 won- 
 der you sing a hymn after it." 
 
 Jed sniffed. "Um . . . ye-es," he drawled. "If I was 
 more worldly-minded I'd take up a collection, probably. 
 Well, how's all the United States Army ; the gold lace part 
 of it, I mean?" 
 
 His visitor laughed again. "Those that I know seem to 
 be very well and happy," she replied. 
 
 "Um . . . yes . . . sartin. They'd be happy, naturally. 
 How could they help it, under the circumstances ?" 
 
 He began picking over an assortment of small hardware, 
 varying his musical accompaniment by whistling instead of 
 singing. His visitor looked at him rather oddly. 
 
 "Jed," she observed, "you're changed." 
 
 "Eh? . . . 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 with gold er muskrats 'round 
 their necks come to see me I'd have dressed up." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean your clothes. I mean you yourself 
 you've changed." 
 
 "I've changed! How, for mercy sakes?" 
 
 "Oh, lots of ways. You pay the ladies compliments now. 
 You wouldn't have done that a year ago." 
 
 "Eh? Pay compliments? I'm afraid you're mistaken. 
 Your pa says I'm so absent-minded and forgetful that I 
 don't pay some of my bills till the folks I owe 'em to make
 
 "SHAVINGS" 22? 
 
 proclamations they're goin' to sue me; and other bills I 
 pay two or three times over." 
 
 "Don'* try to escape by dodging the subject. You have 
 changed in the last few months. I think," holding the tail 
 of the silver fox before her face and regarding him over 
 it, "I think you must be in love." 
 
 "EhF' 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?" mischiev- 
 ously. "Is it the pretty widow? Is it Mrs. Armstrong?" 
 
 A good handful of the hardware fell to the floor. Jed 
 thankfully scrambled down to pick it up. Miss Hunniwell, 
 expressing contrition at being indirectly responsible for the 
 mishap, offered to help him. He declined, of course, but 
 in the little argument which followed the dangerous and 
 embarrassing topic was forgotten. It was not until she 
 was about to leave the shop that Maud again mentioned 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. " 'Van- 
 ity of vanities, 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 show off my new things. I've a good mind not 
 to invite you at all now." 
 
 She doubtless expected apologies and questions as to 
 what invitation was meant. They might have been forth- 
 coming had not the windmill maker been engaged just at 
 that moment in gazing abstractedly at the door of the lit-
 
 228 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 tie stove which heated, or was intended to heat, the work- 
 shop. He did not appear to have heard her remark, so 
 the young lady repeated it. Still he paid no attention. 
 Miss Maud, having inherited a goodly share of the Hun- 
 niwell disposition, demanded an explanation. 
 
 "What in the world is the matter with you?" she asked. 
 "Why are you staring at that stove?" 
 
 Jed started and came to life. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, 
 I was thinkin' what an everlastin' nuisance 'twas the stove, 
 I mean. It needs more wood about every five minutes in 
 the day, seems to needs it now, that's what made me 
 think of it. I was just wonderin' if 'twouldn't be a good 
 notion to set it up out in the yard." 
 
 "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 whether it needed wood or not, so 'twouldn't be all 
 the time botherin' me." 
 
 However, he rose and replenished the stove. Miss Hun- 
 niwell laughed. Then she said: "Jed, you don't de- 
 serve it, because you didn't hear me when I first dropped 
 the hint, but I came here with an invitation for you. Pa 
 and I expect you to eat your Thanksgiving dinner with us." 
 
 If she had asked him to eat it in jail Jed could not have 
 been more disturbed. 
 
 "Now now, Maud," he stammered, "I I'm ever so 
 much obliged to you, but I I don't see how " 
 
 "Nonsense ! I see how perfectly well. You always act 
 just this way whenever I invite you to anything. You're 
 not afraid of Pa or me, are you?" 
 
 "W-e-e-11, well, I ain't afraid of your Pa 's I know of, but 
 of course, when such a fascinatin' young woman as you
 
 "SHAVINGS" 229 
 
 comes along, all rigged up to kill, why, it's natural that ar 
 old single relic like me should get kind of nervous." 
 
 Maud clasped her hands. "Oh," she cried, "there's an- 
 other compliment ! You have changed, Jed. I'm going to 
 ask Father what it 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 and pester me to death. You know what a 
 tease he is when he gets started. Don't, Maud, don't." 
 
 She looked hugely delighted at the prospect. Her eyes 
 sparkled with mischief. "I certainly shall tell him," she 
 declared, "unless you promise to eat with us on Thanksgiv- 
 ing 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 pos- 
 sibly five times in the last five years. He hesitated. 
 
 "Ain't goin' to be any other company, is there ?" he asked, 
 aftter a moment. It was now that Maud showed her first 
 symptoms of embarrassment. 
 
 "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 thought perhaps we might invite Mrs. Armstrong 
 and Babbie. You know them, Jed, so they won't be 
 like strangers. And Pa thinks Mrs. Armstrong is a very 
 nice lady, a real addition to the town ; I've heard him say 
 so often," she added, earnestly. 
 
 Jed was silent. She looked up at him from under the 
 brim of the new hat. 
 
 "You wouldn't mind them, Jed, would you?" she 
 asked. "They wouldn'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 home alone on Thanksgivin' Day. If
 
 230 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 she took Babbie, you know, there wouldn't be anybody 
 left to keep him company." 
 
 Miss Hunniwell twirled the fox tail in an opposite di- 
 rection. "Oh, of course," she said, with elaborate care- 
 lessness, "we should invite Mrs. Armstrong's brother if 
 we invited her. Of course we should have to do that." 
 
 Jed nodded, but he made no comment. His visitor 
 watched him from beneath the hat brim. 
 
 "You you haven't any objection to Mr. Phillips, have 
 you?" she queried. 
 
 "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, 
 the women- 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 
 girfs up at the bank, polite and nice to 'em, you know. He's 
 even made a hit with old Melissy Busteed, and it takes a 
 regular feller to do that." 
 
 He would not promise to appear at the Hunniwell home 
 on Thanksgiving, but he did agree to think it over. Maud 
 had to be content with that. However, she declared that 
 she should take his acceptance 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 I and 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 231 
 
 of the silver fox. Jed, gazing after her, rubbed his chin 
 reflectively. 
 
 His indecision concerning the acceptance of the Hunni- 
 well invitation lasted until the day before Thanksgiving. 
 Then Barbara added her persuasions to those of Captain 
 Sam and his daughter and he gave in. 
 
 "If you don't go, Uncle Jed," asserted Babbie, "we're 
 all goin' to be awfully disappointed, 'specially me and Pe- 
 tunia and Mamma and Uncle 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," she said. "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 laugh sometimes right 
 off," she explained, politely. "If you was really feeling 
 so bad it wouldn't be nice to laugh, you know." 
 
 Jed laughed then, himself. "So Petunia would feel bad 
 if I didn't go to Sam's, would she?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," solemnly. "She told me she shouldn't eat one 
 single thing if you didn't go. She's a very high-strung 
 child." 
 
 That settled it. Jed argued that Petunia must on no 
 account be strung higher than she was and consented to 
 dine at the Hunniwells'. 
 
 The day before Thanksgiving brought another visitor to 
 the windmill shop, one as welcome as he was unexpected. 
 Jed, hearing the door to the stock room open, shouted 
 "Come in" from his seat at the workbench in the inner 
 room. When his summons was obeyed he looked up to 
 see a khaki-clad figure advancing with extended hand. 
 
 "Why, hello, Major!" he exclaimed. "I'm real glad
 
 232 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 miracle in his case which it works in so many. 
 Jed found it hard to recognize the stoop-shouldered son 
 of the hardware dealer in the spruce young soldier before 
 him. When he complimented Leander upon the improve- 
 ment 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 'em half a chance. Probably I shouldn't 
 have had the chance if it hadn't been for you. You were 
 the one who really put me up to enlisting." 
 
 Jed refused to listen. "Can't make a man out of a pun- 
 kinhead," he asserted. "If you hadn't had the right stuff 
 in you, Leander, drill masters nor nobody else could have 
 fetched it out. How do you like belongin' to Uncle Sam?" 
 
 Young Babbitt liked it and said so. "I feel as if I were 
 doing something at last," he said ; "as if I was part of the 
 biggest thing in the world. Course I'm only a mighty lit- 
 tle part, but, after all, it's something." 
 
 Jed nodded, gravely. "You bet it's somethin'," he ar- 
 gued. "It's a lot, a whole lot. I only wish I was standin' 
 alongside of you in the ranks, Leander. ... I'd be a sight, 
 though, wouldn't I?" he added, his lip twitching in the 
 fleeting smile. "What do you think the Commodore, or 
 General, or whoever 'tis bosses things at the camp, would 
 say when he saw me? He'd think the flagpole had grown 
 feet, and was walkin' round, I cal'late." 
 
 He asked his young friend what reception he met with 
 upon his return home. Leander smiled ruefully. 
 
 "My step-mother seemed glad enough to see me," he 
 said. "She and I had some long talks on the subject and
 
 'SHAVINGS" 233 
 
 I think she doesn't blame me much for going into the serv- 
 ice. I told her the whole story ^.nd, down in her heart, I 
 believe she thinks I did right." 
 
 Jed nodded. "Don't see how she could help it," he said. 
 "How does your dad take it?" 
 
 Leander hesitated. "Well," he said, "you know Father. 
 He doesn't change his mind easily. He and I didn't get 
 as close together as I wish 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 he knew the little man's hard, implacable 
 disposition and the violence of his prejudices. 
 
 "Um-hm," he said. "All the same, Leander, I believe 
 your father thinks more of you than he does of anything 
 else on earth." 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Jed. But on the 
 other hand I'm afraid he and I will never be the same after 
 I come back from the 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 go- 
 ing to, it wouldn't make any difference in my feelings about 
 going. I'm glad I 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 how the Kaiser earns his salary; only he gives ad- 
 vice 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 he left, young Babbitt said: 
 
 "Jed, there is one thing that worries me a little in con- 
 nection with Father. He was bitter against the war before 
 we went into it and before he and Cap'n Sam Hunniwell
 
 234 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 had their string of rows. Since then and since I enlisted 
 he has been worse than ^ver. The things he says against 
 the government and against the country make me want to 
 lick him and I'm his own son. I am really scared for 
 fear he'll get himself jailed for being a traitor or some- 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 Mr. Winslow asked if Phineas' feeling against Captain 
 Hunniwell had softened at all. Leander's reply was a 
 vigorous negative. 
 
 "Not a bit," he declared. "He hates the cap'n worse than 
 ever, if that's possible, and he'll do him some bad turn 
 some day, if he can, I'm afraid. You must think it's queer 
 my speaking this way of my own father," he added. "Well, 
 I don't to any one else. Somehow a fellow always feels as 
 if he could say just what he thinks to you, Jed Winslow. 
 I feel that way, anyhow." 
 
 He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early No- 
 vember twilight. Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving din- 
 ner at home and then leave for 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, he seemed to typify Young America 
 setting cheerfully forth to face anything that Honor and 
 Decency may still be more than empty words in this world 
 of ours.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire 
 success. Even Captain Sam himself was forced to 
 admit it, although he professed to do so with re- 
 luctance. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction 
 of his guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' every- 
 thing. Of course '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, when everything's considered." 
 
 His daughter was highly indignant. "Do you mean to 
 say that this dinner isn't as good as those you used to get 
 at that Boston restaurant, 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 al- 
 ways speak the truth and I've tried to live up to my early 
 trainin'. Speakin' as a truthful man, then, I'm obliged to 
 say that this dinner ain't like those I used to get at Sam 
 Coy's." 
 
 Ruth put in a word. "Well, then, Captain Hunniwell," 
 she said, "I think the restaurant you refer to must be one of 
 the best in the world." 
 
 Before the captain could reply, Maud did it for him. 
 
 "Mrs. Armstrong," she cautioned, "you mustn't take my 
 father too seriously. He dearly loves to catch people with 
 what he hopes is a joke. For a minute he caught even me 
 this time, but I see through him now. He didn't say the 
 dinner at his precious restaurant was better than this one 
 
 225
 
 236 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 he said it wasn't like it, that's all. Which is probably 
 true," she added, with withering scorn. "But what 7 
 should like to know is what he means by his 'everything con- 
 sidered.' " 
 
 Her tather's gravity was unshaken. "Well," he said, "all 
 I meant was that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin' 
 who was responsible 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. Very well, Pa," she added, calmly, "the 
 rest of us will have our dessert now. You can get yours 
 at Sam Coy's." 
 
 The dessert was mince pie and a Boston frozen pudding, 
 the latter an especial favorite of Captain Sam's. He ca- 
 pitulated at once. 
 
 " 'Kamerad ! Kamerad !' " he cried, holding up both 
 hands. "That's what the Germans say when they surren- 
 der, ain't it? I give in, Maud. You can shoot me against 
 a stone wall, if you want to, only give me my frozen pud- 
 din' first. It ain't so much that I like the puddin'," he 
 explained to Mrs. Armstrong, "but I never can make out 
 whether it's flavored with tansy or spearmint. Maud won't 
 tell me, but I know it's somethin' old-fashioned and reminds 
 me of my grandmother; or, maybe, it's my grandfather; 
 come to think, I guess likely 'tis." 
 
 Ruth grasped his meaning later when she tasted the pud- 
 ding and found it flavored with New England rum. 
 
 After dinner they adjourned to the parlor. Maud, be- 
 ing coaxed by her adoring father, played the piano. Then 
 she sang. Then they all sang, all except Jed and the cap- 
 tain, that is. The latter declared that his voice had mil- 
 dewed in the damp weather they had been having lately, 
 and Jed excused himself on the ground that he had been 
 warned not to sing because it was not healthy.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 237 
 
 Barbara was surprised and shocked. 
 
 "Why, Uncle Jed!" she cried. "You sing ever so much. 
 I heard you singing this morning." 
 
 Jed nodded. "Ye-es," he drawled, "but I was alone then 
 and I'm liable to take chances with my own health. Bluey 
 Batcheldor was in the shop last week, though, when I was 
 tunin' up and it disagreed with him." 
 
 "I don't believe it, Uncle Jed," with righteous indignation. 
 "How do you know it did?" 
 
 " 'Cause he said so. He listened a spell, and then said 
 I made him sick, so I took his word for it." 
 
 Captain Sam laughed uproariously. "You must be 
 pretty bad then, Jed," he declared. "Anybody who dis- 
 agrees with Bluey Batcheldor must be pretty nigh the 
 limit." 
 
 Jed nodded. "Um-hm," he said, reflectively, "pretty nigh, 
 but not quite. Always seemed to me the real limit was any- 
 body who agreed with him." 
 
 So Jed, with Babbie on his knee, sat in the corner of the 
 bay window looking out on the street, while Mrs. Armstrong 
 and her brother and Miss Hunniwell played and sang and 
 the captain applauded vigorously and loudly demanded 
 more. After a time Ruth left the group at the piano and 
 joined Jed and her daughter by the window. Captain 
 Hunniwell came a few minutes later. 
 
 "Make a good-lookin' couple, don't they?" he whispered, 
 bending down, and with a jerk of his head in the direction 
 of the musicians. "Your brother's a fine-lookin' young 
 chap, Mrs. Armstrong. And he acts as well as he looks. 
 Don't know when I've taken 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 my daughter." 
 
 The speech was made without the slightest thought or 
 suggestion of anything but delighted admiration and paren-
 
 238 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 tal affection. Nevertheless, Ruth, to whom it was made, 
 started slightly, and, turning, regarded the pair at the piano. 
 Maud was fingering the pages of a book of college songs 
 and looking smilingly up into the face of Charles Phillips, 
 who was looking down into hers. There was, apparently, 
 nothing in the picture a pretty one, by the way to cause 
 Mrs. Armstrong to gaze so fixedly or to bring the slight 
 frown to her forehead. After a moment she turned 
 toward Jed Winslow. Their eyes met and in his she saw 
 the same startled hint of wonder, of possible trouble, she 
 knew he must see in hers. Then they both looked away. 
 
 Captain Hunniwell prated proudly on, chanting praises 
 of his daughter's capabilities and talents, as he did to any 
 one who would listen, and varying the monotony with oc- 
 casional references to the wonderful manner in which young 
 Phillips had "taken hold" at the bank. Ruth nodded and 
 murmured something from time to time, but to any one less 
 engrossed by his subject than the captain it would have been 
 evident she was paying little attention. Jed, who was be- 
 ing entertained by Babbie and Petunia, was absently pre- 
 tending to be much interested in a fairy story which the 
 former was improvising she called the process "making 
 up as I go along" for his benefit. Suddenly he leaned 
 forward and spoke. 
 
 "Sam," he said, "there's somebody comin' up the walk. 
 I didn't get a good sight of him, but it ain't anybody that 
 lives here in Orham regular." 
 
 "Eh? That so?" demanded the captain. "How do you 
 know 'tain't if you didn't see him ?" 
 
 " 'Cause he's comin' to the front door," replied Mr. Win- 
 slow, with unanswerable logic. "There he is now, comin' 
 out from astern of that lilac bush. Soldier, ain't he?" 
 
 It was Ruth Armstrong who first recognized the visitor. 
 "Why," she exclaimed, "it is Major Grover, isn't it?"
 
 "SHAVINGS" 239 
 
 The major it was, and a moment later Captain Hunni- 
 well ushered him into the room. He had come to Orham 
 on an errand, he explained, and had stopped at the wind- 
 mill shop to see Mr. Winslow. Finding the latter out, he 
 had taken the liberty of following him to the Hunniwell 
 home. 
 
 'Tm going to stay but a moment, Captain Hunni- 
 well," 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 time convenient for us both 
 when I can." 
 
 "Don't cal'late there'll be much trouble about that," ob- 
 served the captain, 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 
 Captain Sam, much amused at the idea. "Figgerin' to have 
 him rig up windmills to drive those flyin' machines of 
 yours, Major?" 
 
 "Not exactly. My business was of another kind, and 
 probably not very important, at that. I shall probably be 
 orer here again on Monday, Winslow. Can you see me 
 then?" 
 
 Jed rubbed His chin. "Ye-es," he said, "I'll be on private 
 exhibition to my friends all day. And children half price," 
 he added, giving Babbie a hug. "But say, Major, how in 
 the world did you 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 
 little embarrassed. 
 
 "Why no," he said, stammering a trifle, "you didn't tell 
 me, but some on* *Hd. Now, who "
 
 240 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "I think I told you, Major," put in Ruth Armstrong. 
 "Last evening, when you called to to return Charlie's 
 umbrella. I told you we were to dine here to-day and that 
 Jed Mr. Winslow was to dine with us. Don't you re- 
 member ?" 
 
 Grover remembered perfectly then, of course. He has- 
 tened to explain that, having borrowed the umbrella of 
 Charles Phillips the previous week, he had dropped in on 
 his next visit to Orham to return it. 
 
 Jed grunted. 
 
 "Humph !" he said, "you never came to see me last night. 
 When you was 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' to stay a spell. Oh, yes, you are, too. Uncle 
 Sam don't need you so hard that he can't let you have an 
 hour or so off on Thanksgiving Day. Maud, why in time 
 didn't we think to have Major Grover here for dinner along 
 with the rest of the folks? Say, couldn't you eat a plate 
 of frozen puddin' right this minute? We've got some on 
 hand that tastes of my grandfather, and we want to get 
 rid of it." 
 
 Their caller laughingly declined the frozen pudding, but 
 he was prevailed upon to remain and hear Miss Hunniwell 
 play. So Maud played and Charles turned the music for 
 her, and Major Grover listened and talked with Ruth Arm- 
 strong in the intervals between selections. And Jed and 
 Barbara chatted and Captain Sam beamed good humor upon 
 every one. It was a very pleasant, happy afternoon. War 
 and suffering and heartache and trouble seemed a long, 
 long way off. 
 
 On the way back to the shop in the chill November dusk
 
 'SHAVINGS" 241 
 
 Grover told Jed a little of rvnat he had called to discuss 
 with him. If Jed's mind had been of the super-critical 
 type it might have deemed the subject of scarcely sufficient 
 importance to warrant the major's pursuing him to the Hun- 
 niwells'. It was simply the subject of Phineas Babbitt and 
 the latter's anti-war utterances and surmised disloyalty. 
 
 "You see," explained Grover, "some one evidently has 
 reported the old chap to the authorities as a suspicious per- 
 son. The government, I imagine, isn't keen on sending a 
 special investigator down here, so they have asked me to 
 look into the matter. I don't know much about Babbitt, 
 but I thought you might. Is he disloyal, do you think?" 
 
 Jed hesitated. Things the hardware dealer had said had 
 been reported to him, of course; but gossip particularly 
 the Bearse brand of gossip was not the most reliable of 
 evidence. Then he remembered his own recent conversa- 
 tion with Leander and the latter's expressed fear that his 
 father might get into trouble. Jed determined, for the 
 son's sake, not to bring that trouble nearer. 
 
 "Well, Major," he answered, "I shouldn't want to say 
 that he was. Phineas talks awful foolish sometimes, but 
 I shouldn't wonder if that was his hot head and bull temper 
 as much as anything else. As to whether he's anything 
 more than foolish or not, course I couldn't say sartin, but 
 I don't think he's too desperate to be runnin' loose. I 
 cal'late he won't put any bombs underneath the town hall 
 or anything of that sort. Phin and his kind remind me 
 some of that new kind of balloon you was tellin' me they'd 
 probably have 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 ? I don't see the connection." 
 
 "Don't you? Well, seems's if I did. Phin fills himself 
 up with the gas he gets from his Anarchist papers and
 
 242 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 magazines the 'rich man's war' and all the rest of it 
 and goes up in the air and when he's up in the air he's 
 kind of hard to handle. That's what you told me about the 
 balloon, if I recollect." 
 
 Grover laughed heartily. "Then the best thing to do is 
 to keep him on the ground, I should say," he observed. 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "Um-hm," he drawled, "but shut- 
 tin' off his gas supply might help some. I don't think I'd 
 worry about him much, if I was you." 
 
 They separated at the front gate before the shop, where 
 the rows of empty posts, from which the mills and vanes 
 had all been removed, stood as gaunt reminders of the 
 vanished summer. Major Grover refused Jed's invitation 
 to come in and have a smoke. 
 
 "No, thank you," he said, "not this evening. I'll wait 
 here a moment and say good-night to the Armstrongs and 
 Phillips and then I must be on my way to the camp. . . . 
 Why, what's the matter? Anything wrong?" 
 
 His companion was searching in his various pockets. The 
 search completed, he proceeded to look himself over, so 
 to speak, taking off his hat and looking at that, lifting a 
 hand and then a foot and looking at them, and all with a 
 puzzled, far-away expression. When Grover repeated his 
 question he seemed to hear it for the first time and then not 
 very clearly. 
 
 "Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, why er yes, there is some- 
 thin' wrong. That is to say, there ain't, and that's the 
 wrong part of it. I don't seem to have forgotten any- 
 thing, 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 go anywhere without forgettin' somethin', for- 
 gettin' to say somethin' or do somethin' or bring somethin'.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 243 
 
 Never did in all my life. Now here I am home again and 
 I can't remember that I've forgot a single thing. . . . 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 away to meet Ruth and her brother, who, with 
 Barbara dancing ahead, were coming along the sidewalk. 
 He had gone but a little way when he heard Mr. Win- 
 slow shouting his name. 
 
 "Major!" shouted Jed. "Major Grover! It's all right, 
 Major, I feel better now. I've found it. 'Twas the key. I 
 left it in the front door lock here when I went away this 
 mornin'. I guess there's nothin' unnatural about me, after 
 all ; guess nothin's goin' to happen." 
 
 But something did and almost immediately. Jed, en- 
 tering the outer shop, closed the door and blundered on 
 through that apartment and the little shop adjoining until 
 he came to his living-room beyond. Then he fumbled 
 about in the darkness for a lamp and matchbox. He found 
 the latter first, on the table where the lamp should have 
 been. Lighting one of the matches, he then found the lamp 
 on a chair directly in front of the door, where he had put it 
 before going away that morning, his idea in so doing being 
 that it would thus be easier to locate when he returned at 
 night. Thanking his lucky stars that he had not upset both 
 chair and lamp in his prowlings, Mr. Winslow lighted the 
 latter. Then, with it in his hand, he turned, to see the 
 very man he and Major Grover had just been discussing 
 seated in the rocker in the corner of the room and glaring at 
 him malevolently. 
 
 Naturally, Jed was surprised. Naturally, also, being 
 himself, he showed his surprise in his own peculiar way. 
 He did not start violently, nor utter an exclamation. In-
 
 244 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 stead he stood stock still, returning Phineas Babbitt's glar- 
 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. Yot f 
 needn't stand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, Shav 
 in's. It's me." 
 
 Jed set the lamp upon the table. He drew a long breath 
 apparently of relief. 
 
 "Why, so 'tis," he said, solemnly. "When I first s,avi 
 you sittin' there, Phin, I had a suspicion 'twas you, but the 
 longer I looked the more I thought 'twas the President 
 come to call. Do you know," he added, confidentially, "if 
 ycu didn't have any whiskers and he looked like you you'd 
 bt the very image of him." 
 
 This interesting piece of information was not received 
 with enthusiasm. Mr. Babbitt's sense of humor was not 
 acutely developed. 
 
 "Never mind the funny business, Shavin's," he snapped. 
 "I didn't come here to be funny to-night. Do you know 
 why I came here to talk to you ?" 
 
 Jed pulled forward a chair and sat down. 
 
 "I presume likely you came here because you found the 
 door unlocked, Phin," he said. 
 
 "I didn't say how I came to come, but why I came. I 
 knew where you was this afternoon. I see you when you 
 left there and I had a good mind to cross over and say 
 what I had to say before the whole crew, Sam HunniweK, 
 and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and that Arm- 
 strong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of 
 'em." 
 
 Mr. Winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "Now, 
 Phin," he protested, "seems to me "
 
 "SHAVINGS" 245 
 
 But Babbitt was too excited to heed. His little eyes 
 snapped and his bristling beard quivered. 
 
 "You hold your horses, Shavin's," he ordered. "I didn't 
 come here to listen to you. I came because I had some- 
 thin' to say and when I've said it I'm goin' and goin' quick. 
 My boy's been home. You knew that, I suppose, didn't 
 you?" 
 
 Jed nodded. "Yes," he said, "I knew Leander'd come 
 home for ThanksgivinV 
 
 "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 knee and his foot lifted from the floor. 
 
 "There, there, Phin," he said gently ; "after all, he's your 
 only son, 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 could scarcely speak. 
 
 "Shut up !" he snarled. "Don't let me hear you say that 
 again, Jed Winslow. Who sent him to war? Who filled 
 his head full of rubbish about patriotism, and duty to the 
 country, and all the rest of the rotten Wall Street stuff? 
 Who put my boy up to enlistin', Jed Winslow?" 
 
 Jed's foot swung slowly back and forth. 
 
 "Well, Phin," he drawled, "to be real honest, I think he 
 put himself 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 
 Hunniwell and the rest of the gang have fixed him so he 
 don't come to his father to tell things any longer. But he 
 told his step-mother this very mornin' and she told me.
 
 246 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 You was the one that advised him to enlist, he said. Good 
 Lord ; think of it ! He don't go to his own father for ad- 
 vice ; he goes to the town jackass instead, the critter that 
 spends his time whittlin' out young-one's playthings. My 
 Lord A'mighty !" 
 
 He spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. There 
 was an interval of silence before Jed answered. 
 
 "Well, Phin," he said, slowly, "you're right, in a way. 
 Leander and I have always been pretty good friends and 
 he's been in the habit of droppin' in here to talk things over 
 with me. When he came to me to ask what he ought to 
 do about enlistin', asked what I'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 ; you know you did." 
 
 "Urn ... yes ... I did." 
 
 "You did? You did? And you have the cheek to own 
 up to it right afore my face." 
 
 Jed's hand stroked his chin. "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "you 
 just ordered me not to lie out of it, you know. Leander 
 asked me right up 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, you sneak." 
 
 Jed's foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he 
 hoisted himself from the chair. 
 
 "Phin," he said, with deliberate mildness, "is there any- 
 thing else you'd like to ask me? 'Cause if there isn't, 
 maybe you'd better run 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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 247 
 
 here and waited here so's to be able to tell you somethin 1 . 
 And that is that I know now that you're responsible for my 
 son my onh boy, the boy I'd depended on and 
 and " 
 
 The fierce little man was, for the moment, close to break- 
 ing down. Jed's heart softened ; he felt almost conscience- 
 stricken. 
 
 "I'm sorry for you, Phineas," he said. "I know how 
 hard it must be for you. Leander realized it, too. 
 He " 
 
 "Shut up! Shavin's, you listen to me. I don't forget. 
 All my life 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 to say this to you. I'll get square with 
 you just as I'll get square with Sam Hunniwell. . . . That's 
 all. ... That's all. . . . Damn you!" 
 
 He stamped from the room and Jed heard him stumbling 
 through the littered darkness of the shops on his way 
 to the front door, kicking at the obstacles he tripped over 
 and swearing and sobbing as he went. It was ridiculous 
 enough, of course, but Jed did not feel like smiling. The 
 bitterness of the little man's final curse was not humorous. 
 Neither was the heartbreak in his tone when he spoke of 
 his boy. Jed felt no self-reproach ; he had advised Leander 
 just as he might have advised his own son had his life been 
 like other men's lives, normal men who had married and 
 possessed sons. He had no sympathy for Phineas Bab- 
 bitt's vindictive hatred of all those more fortunate than he 
 or who opposed him, or for Ms silly and selfish ideas con- 
 cerning the war. But he did pity him; he pitied him pro- 
 foundly. 
 
 Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional de- 
 parture and Jed followed to close it. Before doing so he 
 tepped out into the yard.
 
 248 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 It was pitch dark now and still. He could hear the foot- 
 steps of his recent visitor pounding up the road, and tfie 
 splashy grumble of the surf on the bar was musually aud- 
 ible. He stood for a moment looking up at the black sky, 
 with the few stars shining between the cloud blotches. 
 Then he turned and looked at the little house next door. 
 
 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 and went. Jed looked 
 and looked. He saw her turn and speak to some one. 
 Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of 
 Major Grover. Evidently the major had not gone home at 
 once as he had told Jed he intended doing, plainly he had 
 been persuaded to enter the Armstrong house and make 
 Charlie and his sister a short call. This was Jed's estimate 
 of the situation, his sole speculation concerning it and its 
 probabilities. 
 
 And yet Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he seen the major's 
 shadow upon the Armstrong window curtain, might have 
 speculated much.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE pity which Jed felt for Phineas Babbitt caused 
 him to keep silent concerning his Thanksgiving eve- 
 ning interview with the hardware dealer. At first he 
 nras inclined to tell Major Grover of Babbitt's expressions 
 concerning the war and his son's enlistment. After reflec- 
 tion, however, he decided not to do so. The Winslow char- 
 ity was wide enough to cover a multitude of other people's 
 sins and it covered those of Phineas. The latter was to be 
 pitied ; as to fearing him, as a consequence of his threat to 
 "get square," Jed never thought of such a thing. If he 
 felt any anxiety at all in the matter it was a trifling uneasi- 
 ness because his friends, the Hunniwells and the Arm- 
 strongs, were included in the threat. But he was inclined 
 to consider Mr. Babbitt's wrath as he had once estimated 
 the speech of a certain Ostable candidate for political office, 
 to be "like a tumbler of plain sody water, mostly fizz and 
 froth and nothin' very substantial or fillin'." He did not 
 tell Grover of the interview in the shop; he told no one, 
 not even Ruth Armstrong. 
 
 The to him, at least delightful friendship and intimacy 
 between himself and his friends and tenants continued. He 
 and Charlie Phillips came to know each other better and 
 better. Charles was now almost as confidential concern- 
 ing his personal affairs as his sister had been and continued 
 to be. 
 
 "It's surprising how I come in here and tell you all my 
 private business, Jed," he said, laughing. "I don't go 
 about shouting my joys and troubles in everybody's ear like 
 this. Why do I do it to you?"
 
 250 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed stopped a dismal whistle in the middl* of a bar. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I don't know. When I was a 
 young-one I used to like to holler out back of Uncle Laban 
 Ryder's barn so's to hear the echo. When you say so and 
 so, Charlie, I generally agree with you. Maybe you come 
 here to get an echo; eh?" 
 
 Phillips laughed. "You're not fair to yourself," he said. 
 "I generally find when the echo in here says no after I've 
 said yes it pays 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 could not tell. 
 
 As January slid icily into February Mr. Gabriel Bearse 
 became an unusually busy person. There were so many 
 things to talk about. Among these was one morsel which 
 Gabe rolled succulently beneath his tongue. Charles Phil- 
 lips, " 'cordin' to everybody's tell," was keeping company 
 with Maud Hunniwell. 
 
 "There ain't no doubt of it," declared Mr. Bearse. "All 
 hands is talkin' about it. Looks's if Cap'n Sam would have 
 a son-in-law on his 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 plan- 
 ing. He made no reply. Gabe tried again. 
 
 "How do you cal'late Cap'n Sam'll like the notion of his 
 pet daughter takin' up with another man ?" he queried. Jed 
 was still mute. KJS caller lost patience. 
 
 "Say, what ails you?" he demanded. "Can't you say 
 nothin'?"
 
 'SHAVINGS" 251 
 
 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 how you thought Cap'n Sam would take the 
 notion of Maud's havin' a steady beau ? She's had a good 
 many after her, but looks as if she was stuck on this one 
 for keeps." 
 
 Jed sighed and looked over his spectacles at Mr. Bearse. 
 The latter 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, "I was 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 leaks consider'ble." 
 
 Mr. Bearse raspingly separated his nether garment from 
 the top of the box and departed, expressing profane 
 opinions. Jed's lips twitched for an instant, then he 
 puckered them and began to whistle. 
 
 But, although he had refused to discuss the matter with 
 Gabriel Bearse, he realized that there was a strong element 
 of probability in the latter's surmise. It certainly did look 
 as if the spoiled daughter of Orham's bank president had 
 lost her heart to her father's newest employee. Maud had 
 had many admirers ; some very earnest and lovelorn swains 
 had hopefully climbed the Hunniwell front steps only to 
 sorrowfully descend them again. Miss Melissa Busteed
 
 252 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 and other local scandal scavengers had tartly classified the 
 young lady as the "worst little flirt on the whole Cape," 
 which was not true. But Maud was pretty and vivacious 
 and she was not averse to the society and adoration of the 
 male sex in general, although she had never until now shown 
 symptoms of preference for an individual. But Charlie 
 Phillips had come and seen and, judging by appearances, 
 conquered. 
 
 Since the Thanksgiving dinner the young man had been 
 a frequent visitor at the Hunniwell home. Maud was 
 musical, she played well and had a pleasing voice. Charles' 
 baritone was unusually good. So on many evenings Cap- 
 tain Sam's front parlor rang with melody, while the cap- 
 tain smoked in the big rocker and listened admiringly and 
 gazed dotingly. At the moving-picture theater on Wednes- 
 day and Saturday evenings Orham nudged and winked 
 when two Hunniwells and a Phillips came down the aisle. 
 Even at the Congregational church, where Maud sang in 
 the choir, the young bank clerk was beginning to be a fairly 
 constant attendant. Captain Eri Hedge declared that that 
 settled it. 
 
 "When a young feller who ain't been to meetin' for land 
 knows how long," observed Captain Eri, "all of a sudden 
 begins showin' up every Sunday reg'lar as clockwork, you 
 can make up your mind it's owin' 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 one else, the possibilities in the case. And what he 
 saw distressed him greatly. Captain Sam Hunniwell was 
 his life-long friend. Maud had been his pet since her baby- 
 hood ; she and he had had many confidential chats together, 
 over troubles at school, over petty disagreements with her
 
 "SHAVINGS" 253 
 
 father, over all sorts of minor troubles and joys. Captain 
 Sam had mentioned to him, more than once, the probabil- 
 ity of his daughter's falling in love and marrying some time 
 or other, but they both had treated the idea as vague and 
 far off, 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 was very fond of Charlie Phillips; he had 
 made up his mind at first to like him because he was Ruth's 
 brother, but now he liked him for himself. And, had 
 things been other than as they were, he could think of no 
 one to whom he had rather see Maud Hunniwell married. 
 In fact, had Captain Hunniwell known the young man's 
 record, of his slip and its punishment, Jed would have been 
 quite content to see the latter become Maud's husband. A 
 term in prison, especially when, as in this case, he believed 
 it to be an unwarranted punishment, would have counted 
 for nothing in the unworldly mind of the windmill maker. 
 But Captain Sam did not know. He was tremendously 
 proud of his daughter ; in his estimation no man would have 
 been quite good enough for her. What would he say when 
 he learned? What would Maud say when she learned? 
 for it was almost certain that Charles had not told her. 
 These were some of the questions which weighed upon the 
 simple soul of Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow. 
 
 And heavier still there weighed the thought of Ruth 
 Armstrong. He had given her his word not to mention 
 her brother's secret to a soul, not even to him. And yet, 
 some day or other, as sure and certain as the daily flowing 
 and ebbing of the tides, that secret would become known. 
 Some day Captain Sam Hunniwell would learn it; some 
 day Maud would learn it. Better, far better, that they 
 learned it before marriage, or even before the public an- 
 nouncement of their engagement always provided there
 
 254 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 was to be such an engagement. In fact, were it not for 
 Ruth herself, no consideration for Charles' feelings would 
 have prevented Jed's taking 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 not be jeopar- 
 dized if he could prevent it. 
 
 But there was Ruth. She, not her brother, was pri- 
 marily responsible for obtaining for him the bank position 
 and obtaining it under fake pretenses. And she, accord- 
 ing to her own confession to 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's 
 secret became known, it was not he alone who would suf- 
 fer ; Ruth, too, would be disgraced. She and Babbie might 
 have to leave Orham, might have to go out of his life for- 
 ever. 
 
 No wonder that, as the days passed, and Gabe Bearse's 
 comments and those of Captain Eri Hedge were echoed and 
 reasserted by the majority of Orham tongues, Jed Win- 
 slow's worry and foreboding increased. He watched 
 Charlie Phillips go whistling out of the yard after supper, 
 and sighed as he saw him turn up the road in the direction 
 of the Hunniwell home. He watched Maud's face when 
 he met her and, although the young lady was in better spir- 
 its and prettier than he had ever seen her, these very facts 
 made him miserable, because he accepted them as proofs 
 that the situation was as he feared. He watched Ruth's 
 face also and there, too, he saw, or fancied that he saw, 
 a growing anxiety. She had been very well ; her spirits, 
 like Maud's, had been light; she had seemed younger and 
 o much happier than when he and she first met. The lit-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 255 
 
 tie Winslow house was no longer so quiet, with no sound 
 of voices except those of Barbara and her mother. There 
 were Red Cross sewing meetings there occasionally, and 
 callers came. Major Grover was one of the latter. The 
 major's errands in Orham were more numerous than they 
 had been, and his trips thither much more frequent, in con- 
 sequence. And whenever he came he made it a point to 
 drop in, usually at the windmill shop first, and then upon 
 Babbie at the house. Sometimes he brought her home from 
 school in his car. He told Jed that he had taken a greal 
 fancy to the little girl and could not bear to miss an oppor 
 tunity of seeing her. Which statement Jed, of course, ac- 
 cepted wholeheartedly. 
 
 But Jed was sure that Ruth had been anxious and 
 troubled of late and he believed the reason to be that which 
 troubled him. He hoped she might speak t^ liim concern- 
 ing her brother. He would have likeu to broach the sub- 
 ject himself, but feared she might consider him interfering. 
 
 One day it was in late February, the ground was cov- 
 ered with snow and a keen wind was blowing in over a 
 sea gray-green and splashed thickly with white Jed was 
 busy at his turning lathe when Charlie came into the shop. 
 Business at the bank was not heavy in mid-winter and, al- 
 though it was but little after three, the young man was 
 through work for the day. He hoisted himself to his ac- 
 customed seat on the edge of the workbench and sat there, 
 swinging his feet and watching his companion turn out 
 the heads and trunks of a batch of wooden sailors. He 
 was unusually silent, for him, merely nodding in response 
 to Jed's cheerful "Hello!" and speaking but a few words 
 in reply to a question concerning the weather. Jed, ab- 
 sorbed in his work and droning a hymn, apparently forgot 
 all about his caller. 
 
 Suddenly the latter spoke.
 
 256 -SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Jed," he said, "when you are undecided about doing or 
 not doing a thing, 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 about fifty-fifty on the subject, how do you decide?" 
 
 Jed's answer was absently given. "W-e -e-11," he drawled, 
 "I generally 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 it to Isaiah." 
 
 "Isaiah? Isaiah who?" 
 
 "I don't know his last name, but he's got a whole lot of 
 first ones. That's him, up on that shelf." 
 
 He pointed to a much battered wooden figure attached 
 to the ed^e of the shelf upon the wall. The figure was 
 that of a little man holding a set of mill arms in front of 
 him. The said mill arms were 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 contrap- 
 tion that I ever made and, bein' as he seemed to bring me 
 luck, I've kept him. He's settled 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 just now 'cause that was the first of the prophet 
 names I could think of. Next time he's just as liable to 
 be Hosea or Ezekiel or Samuel or Jeremiah. He prophe- 
 sies 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 257 
 
 laughing mood and then asked : "You say he settles ques- 
 tions for you? How?" 
 
 "How? . . . Oh. . . . Well, you notice one end of that 
 whirligig arm he's got is smudged with black?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That's Hosea's indicator. Suppose I've got somethin* 
 on on what complimentary folks like you would call my 
 mind. Suppose, same as 'twas yesterday mornin', I was 
 tryin' to decide whether or not I'd have a piece of steak 
 for supper. I gave er Elisha's whirligig here a spin 
 and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straight up. 
 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 
 Deuteronomy there 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 all accordin' to prophecy. And I put it on a plate 
 out in the back room where 'twas cold, intendin' to cook it 
 when supper time came." 
 
 "Well, didn't you?" 
 
 "No-o; you see, 'twas otherwise provided. That ever- 
 lastin' Cherub tomcat of Taylor's must have sneaked in 
 with the boy when he brought the order from the store. 
 When I shut the steak up in the back room I er er 
 hum. . . ." 
 
 "You did what?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Oh, I shut the cat up with it. I guess likely 
 that's the end of the yarn, ain't it?"
 
 258 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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' to his lights, I guess. It must have been a 
 treat to him; I doubt if he gets much steak at home. . . . 
 Well, do you want to give Isaiah a 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 
 your disposal. Help yourself." 
 
 The young fellow shook his head. "I'm afraid it 
 wouldn't be very satisfactory," he said. "He might say 
 no when I wanted him to say yes, you see." 
 
 "Um-hm. . . . He's liable to do that. When he does it 
 to me I keep on spinnin' him till we agree, that's all." 
 
 Phillips made no comment on this illuminating statement 
 and there was another interval of silence, broken only by 
 the hum and rasp of the turning lathe. Then he spoke 
 again. 
 
 "Jed," he said, "seriously now, when a big question comes 
 up to you, and you've got to answer it one way or the other, 
 how do you settle with yourself which way to answer?" 
 
 Jed sighed. "That's easy, Charlie," he declared. "There 
 don't any big questions ever come up to me. I ain't the 
 kind of feller the big things come to." 
 
 Charles grunted, impatiently. "Oh, well, admitting all 
 that," he said, "you must have to face questions that are 
 big to you, that seem big, anyhow." 
 
 Jed could not help wincing, just a little. The matter- 
 of-fact way in which his companion accepted the estimate 
 of his insignificance was humiliating. Jed did not blame
 
 'SHAVINGS" 259 
 
 him, it was true, of course, but the truth hurt a little. 
 He was ashamed of himself for feeling the hurt. 
 
 "Oh," he drawled, "I do have some things little no- 
 account things to decide every once in a while. Some- 
 times they bother me, too although they probably wouldn't 
 anybody with a head instead of a Hubbard squash on his 
 shoulders. The only way I can decide 'em is to 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 the reasons 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 got to tell?" 
 
 He was glaring at the windmill maker with frightened 
 eyes. Jed knew as well as if it had been painted on the 
 shop wall before him the question in the boy's mind, the 
 momentous decision he was trying to make. And he pit- 
 ied him from the bottom of his heart. 
 
 "Tell?" he repeated. "Did I say tell? Well, if I did 
 'twas just a er figger of speech, as the book fellers talk 
 about. But the only way to decide a thing, as it seems to 
 me, is to try and figger out what's the right of it, and then 
 do that." 
 
 Phillips looked gloomily at the floor. "And that's such 
 an easy job," he observed, with sarcasm. 
 
 "The figgerin' or the doin'?" 
 
 "Oh, the doing; the figuring is usually easy enough 
 too easy. But the doing is different. The average fellow 
 is afraid. I don't suppose you would be, Jed. I can imag- 
 ine you doing almost anything if 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
 
 260 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 critter that lives and the weakest-kneed, too, 'most gener- 
 ally. But but, all the same, I do believe the best thing, 
 and the easiest in the end, not only for you or me but 
 for all hands, is to take the bull by the horns and heave the 
 critter, if you can. There may be an awful big trouble, 
 but big or little it'll be over and done with. That bull won't 
 be hangin' around all your life and sneakin' up astern to 
 get you and those you er care for. . . . Mercy me, 
 how I do preach ! They'll be callin' me to the Baptist pul- 
 pit, if I don't look out. I understand they're candidatin'." 
 
 His friend drew a long breath. "There is a poem that 
 I used to read, or hear some one read," he observed, "thai 
 fills the bill for any one with your point of view, I should 
 say. Something about a fellow's not being afraid to put 
 all his money on one horse, or the last card about his not 
 deserving anything if he isn't afraid to risk 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. Who- 
 ever would have accused you of reading poetry and quot- 
 ing it." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "I don't know much, of course," 
 he said, "but there's consider'ble many poetry books up to 
 the library and I like to 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
 
 'SHAVINGS" 261 
 
 say, as nothin' else does. There's another one that's bet- 
 ter 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 from the workbench and turned toward the door. 
 
 " 'He either fears his fate too much,' " he quoted, groom- 
 ily. "Humph ! I wonder if it ever occurred to that chap 
 that there might be 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 of some money, do you?" 
 
 Jed was surprised. "Humph!" he grunted. "I should 
 say you had hold of money two-thirds of every day. Fel- 
 ler that works in a bank is supposed to handle some cash." 
 
 "Yes, of course," with an impatient laugh, "but that is 
 somebody else's money, not mine. I want to get some of 
 my own." 
 
 "Sho! . . . Well, I cal'late I could let you have ten or 
 twenty dollars right now, if that would be any help to you." 
 
 "It wouldn't; thank you just the same. If it was five 
 hundred instead of ten, why perhaps I shouldn't say no." 
 
 Jed was startled. 
 
 "Five hundred?" he repeated. "Five hundred dollars? 
 Do you need all that so very bad, Charlie ?" 
 
 Phillips, his foot upon the threshold of the outer shop, 
 turned and looked at him. 
 
 "The way I feel now I'd do almost anything to get it," 
 he said, and went out. 
 
 Jed told no one of this conversation, although his friend's 
 parting remark troubled and puzzled him. In fact it 
 troubled him so much that at a subsequent meeting with
 
 262 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Charles he hinted to the latter that he should be glad to 
 lend the five hundred himself. 
 
 "I ought to have that and some more in the bank," he 
 said. "Sam would know whether I had or not. . . . Eh? 
 Why, and you would, too, of course. I forgot you know 
 as much about folks' bank accounts 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," he safd, "that you would lend me five hundred 
 dollars without any security or without knowing in the 
 least what I wanted it for?" 
 
 "Why why, of course. 'T wouldn't be any of my busi- 
 ness what you wanted it for, would it?" 
 
 "Humph ! Have you done much lending of that kind ?" 
 
 "Eh ? . . . Um. . . . Well, I used to do consider'ble, but 
 Sam he kind of put his foot down and said I shouldn't do 
 any more. But I don't have to mind him, you know, al- 
 though I generally do because it'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 a good fellow, Jed, but you need a guardian." 
 
 Jed shook his head sadly. "I hate to be so unpolite as 
 to call your attention to it," he drawled, "but I've heard 
 somethin' like that 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 hundred dollars, Charlie, I'm goin' to. Oh, 
 I'm a divil of a feller when I set out to be, desperate and 
 reckless, I am." 
 
 Charlie laughed, but he put his hand on Jed's shoulder, 
 "You're a brick, I know that," he said, "and I'm a million 
 times obliged to you. But I was only joking; I don't need 
 any five hundred." 
 
 "Eh? . . . You don't? . . . Why, you said "
 
 'SHAVINGS" 263 
 
 "Oh, I er need some new clothes and things and I was 
 talking foolishness, that's all. Don't you worry about me, 
 Jed; I'm all right." 
 
 But Jed did worry, a little, although his worry concern- 
 ing the young man's need of money was so far over- 
 shadowed by the anxiety caused by his falling in love with 
 Maud Hunniwell that it was almost forgotten. That situa- 
 tion 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 to speak ; he was certain she understood the 
 situation and realized its danger; she appeared to him anx- 
 ious and very nervous. It was to him, and to him alone 
 her brother excepted she could speak, but the days passed 
 and she did not. And it was Captain Hunniwell who spoke 
 first
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CAPTAIN SAM entered the windmill shop about two 
 o'clock one windy afternoon in the first week of 
 March. He was wearing a heavy fur overcoat and 
 a motoring cap. He pulkd off the coat, threw it over a 
 pile of boards and sat down. 
 
 "Whew !" he exclaimed. "It's blowing hard enough to 
 start the bark on a log." 
 
 Jed looked up. 
 
 "Did you say log or dog?" he asked, solemnly. 
 
 The captain grinned. "I said log," he answered. "This 
 gale of wind would blow a dog away, bark and all. Whew ! 
 I'm all out of breath. It's some consider'ble of a drive over 
 from Wapatomac. Comin' across that stretch of marsh 
 road by West Ostable I didn't know 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 Wapa- 
 tomac and back this day?" he asked. 
 
 His friend bit the end from a cigar. "Oh, diggin' up the 
 root of all evil," he said. "I had to collect a note that was 
 due over there." 
 
 "Humph! I don't know much about such things, but I 
 never mistrusted 'twas necessary for you to go cruisin' 
 like that to collect notes. Seems consider'ble like sendin' 
 the skipper up town to buy onions for the cook. Couldn't 
 the the feller that owed the money send you a check?" 
 
 Captain Sam chuckled. "He could, I cal'late, but he 
 wouldn't," he observed. " 'Twas old Sylvester Sage, up to 
 
 264
 
 "SHAVINGS" 265 
 
 South Wapatomac, the 'cranberry king' they call him up 
 there. He owns cranberry bogs from one end of the Cape 
 to the other. You've heard of him, of course." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "Maybe so," he drawled, "but if I 
 have I've forgot him. The only sage I recollect is the sage 
 tea Mother used to make me take when I had a cold some- 
 times. I couldn't forget that." 
 
 "Well, everybody but you has heard of old Sylvester. 
 He's the biggest crank on earth." 
 
 "Hum-m. Seems 's if he and I ought to know each other. 
 . . . But maybe he's a different kind of crank; eh?" 
 
 "He's all kinds. One of his notions is that he won't pay 
 bills by check, if he can possibly help it. He'll travel fifty 
 miles to pay money for a thing sooner than send a check 
 for it. He had this note fourteen hundred dollars 'twas 
 comin' due at our bank to-day and he'd sent word if we 
 wanted the cash we must send for it 'cause his lumbago 
 was too bad for him to travel. I wanted to see him any- 
 how, about a little matter of a political appointment up his 
 way, so I decided to take the car and go myself. Well, I've 
 just got back and I had a windy v'yage, too. And cold, don't 
 talk!" 
 
 "Urn . . . yes. . . . Get your money, did you?" 
 
 "Yes, I got it. It's in my overcoat pocket now. I thought 
 one spell I wasn't goin' to get it, for the old feller was mad 
 about some one of his cranberry buyers failin' up on him 
 and he was as cross-grained as a scrub oak root. He and 
 I had a regular row over the matter of politics I went there 
 to see him about 'special. I told him what he was and he 
 told me where I could go. That's how we parted. Then 
 I came home." 
 
 "Hum. . . . You'd have had a warmer trip if you'd gone 
 where he sent you, I presume likely. . . . Um. . . . Yes, 
 yes. . . .
 
 266 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 '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't more'n a half pint in it. I must have drunk it in my 
 sleep, I guess. Do I look green around the mouth, Sam?" 
 
 It was just before Captain Sam's departure that he spoke 
 of his daughter and young Phillips. He mentioned them 
 in a most casual fashion, as he was putting on his coat to 
 go, but Jed had a feeling that his friend had stopped at 
 the windmill shop on purpose to discuss that very subject 
 and that all the detail of his Wapatomac trip had been 
 in the nature of a subterfuge to conceal this fact. 
 
 "Oh," said the captain, with somewhat elaborate care- 
 lessness, as he struggled into the heavy coat, "I don't know 
 as I told you that the directors voted to raise Charlie's 
 salary. Um-hm, at last Saturday's meetin' they did it. 
 'Twas unanimous, too. He's as smart as a whip, that young 
 chap. We all think a heap of him." 
 
 Jed nodded, but made no comment. The captain fidgeted 
 with a button of his coat. He turned toward the door, 
 stopped, cleared his throat, hesitated, and then turned back 
 again. 
 
 "Jed," he said, "has has it seemed to you that that he 
 th*t Charlie was maybe comin' to think consider'ble 
 of of my daughter of Maud?" 
 
 Jed looked up, caught his eye, and looked down again. 
 Captain Sam sighed. 
 
 "I see," he said. "You don't need to answer. I pre- 
 sume likely the whole town has been talkin' about it for 
 lanc> knows how long. It's generally the folks at home that
 
 "SHAVINGS" 267 
 
 don't notice till the last gun fires. Of course I knew he 
 was comin' to the house a good deal and that he and Maud 
 seemed to like each other's society, and all that. But it 
 never struck me that that it meant anything serious, you 
 know 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. If Georgianna if my wife had been alive, she'd 
 have noticed, I'll bet, but I didn't. 'Twas only last evenin' ; 
 when he came to get her 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 give you my word, Jed, I I 
 kind of shivered all over. She means she means some- 
 thin' 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 else knows 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 came here 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," he suggested. 
 
 "I don't care where they locate it. I can talk to you 
 about things I never mention to other folks. Guess it must 
 be because you you well, I don't know, but it's so, any- 
 how. . . . Well, to go ahead, after the young folks had 
 gone I sat there alone in the parlor, in the dark, tryin' to 
 think it out. The housekeeper had gone over to her broth- 
 er's, so I had the place to myself. I thought and thought 
 and the harder I thought the lonesomer the rest of my life 
 began to look. And yet and yet I kept tellin' myself how
 
 268 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 selfish and foolish that was. I knew 'twas a dead sartinty 
 she'd be gettin' married some time. You and I have laughed 
 about it and joked about it 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 a moment the captain went on. 
 
 "Well," he said, "when she got home and after he'd 
 gone, I got Maud to sit on my knee, same as she's done 
 ever since she was a little girl, and she and I had a talk. 
 I kind of led up to the subject, as you might say, and by 
 and by we well, we talked it out pretty straight. She 
 thinks an awful sight of him, Jed. There ain'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 th~e only one 
 she's ever cared two straws for, she told me that. And 
 and well, I think she thinks he cares for her that way, too, 
 although of course she 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 speak to me first. I'm his er-~ 
 boss, you know, and perhaps he may feel a little little 
 under obligations to me in a business way and that might 
 make it harder for him to speak. Don't it seem to you 
 maybe that might be it, Jed?" 
 
 Poor Jed hesitated. Then he stammered that he shouldn't 
 be surprised. Captain Sam sighed. 
 
 "Well," he said, "if that's it, it does him credit, anyhow. 
 T ain't goin' to be selfish in this thing, Jed. If she's goin' 
 to have a husband and she is, of course I cal'late I'd 
 rather 'twas Charlie than anybody else I've ever run across. 
 He's smart and he'll climb pretty high, I cal'late. Our little 
 single-sticked bankin' craft ain't goin' to be big enough for 
 him to sail in very long. I can see that already. He'll be 
 navigatin' a clipper one of these days. Well, that's the way
 
 "SHAVINGS" 269 
 
 I'd want it. I'm pretty ambitious for that girl of mine and 
 I shouldn't be satisfied short of 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, after all, ain't it?" 
 
 Jed's reply was almost a groan, but his friend did not 
 notice. He put on his overcoat and turned to go. 
 
 "So, there you are," he said. "I Rad to talk to some- 
 body, had to get it off my chest, and, as I just said, it seems 
 to be easier to talk such things to you than anybody else. 
 Now if any of the town gas engines Gab Bearse or any- 
 body else comes cruisin' in here heavin' overboard ques- 
 tions about how I like the notion of Maud and Charlie 
 takin' up with each other, you can tell 'em I'm tickled to 
 death. 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 
 her sake. So long." 
 
 He went out. Jed put his elbows on the workbench and 
 covered his face with his hands. He was still in that posi- 
 tion when Ruth Armstrong came in. He rose hastily, but 
 she motioned him to sit again. 
 
 "Jed," she said, "Captain Hunniwell was just here with 
 you ; I saw him go. Tell me, what was he talking about ?" 
 
 Jed was confused. "Why why, Mrs. Ruth," he stam- 
 mered, "he was just talkin' about about a note he'd been 
 collecting and and such." 
 
 "Wasn't he speaking of his daughter and and my 
 brother?" 
 
 This time Jed actually gasped. Ruth drew a long breath. 
 "I knew it," she said. 
 
 "But but, for mercy sakes, how did you know? Did 
 t._ f 
 
 "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
 
 270 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 was my guilty conscience, I guess. I've been expecting 
 him to speak to you or me have been dreading it every 
 day and now somehow I knew he had spoken. I knew 
 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 might not care for Charlie. But she does of course 
 she does. She couldn't help it," with a sudden odd little 
 flash of loyalty. 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin in desperation. 
 
 "And and Charlie?" he asked, anxiously. "Does 
 i^ 
 
 "Yes, yes, I'm sure he does. He has never told me so, 
 never in so many words, but I can see. I know him better 
 than any one else in the world and I can see. I saw first, 
 I think, on Thanksgiving Day; at least that is when I first 
 began to suspect to fear." 
 
 Jed nodded. "When they was at the piano together that 
 time and Sam said 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 sur- 
 prised and er well, scared for a minute. I was feelin* 
 the same way just then, so it didn't need any mind reader 
 to guess what had scared you." 
 
 "I see. But, oh, Jed, it is dreadful ! What shall we do ? 
 What will become of us all? And now, when I I had 
 just begun to be happy, really happy." 
 
 She caught her breath in a sob. Jed instinctively 
 stretched out his hand. 
 
 "But there," she went on, hurriedly wiping her eyes, 
 "I mustn't do this. This is no time for me to think of 
 myself. Jed, this mustn't go any further. He must not
 
 'SHAVINGS" 271 
 
 ask her to marry him ; he must not 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 me Ruth." 
 
 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 silence before 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 young man's query concerning the making of a de- 
 cision. She listened anxiously. 
 
 "But don't you think that means that he was wonderng 
 whether or not he should ask her ?" she said. 
 
 "No. That is, I don't think it's ^-tin sure it means 
 that. I rather had the notion it might mean us, was figgerin* 
 whether or not to go straight to Sam and make a clear- 
 breast of it." 
 
 "You mean tell tell everything?" 
 
 "Yes, all about the the business at Middleford. I dc 
 honestly believe that's what the boy's got on his mind to do. 
 It ain't very surprisin' 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 his prospects here and his place in 
 the bank and, more'n everything else, losin' Maud. It's 
 some decision to make. If I had to make it I Well, I 
 don't know." 
 
 She put her hand to her eyes. "The poor boy," she said, 
 under her breath. "But, Jed, do you think th'at is the de-
 
 272 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 cision he referred to? 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 own hopes and prospects alone that are all wrapped up 
 in this thing, it's yours and Babbie's. He's troubled about 
 what'll happen to you. 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 bade him put his neck in front of the bandsaw 
 just then Jed would have obeyed, and smilingly have pulled 
 the lever which set the machine in motion. But the ques- 
 tion, nevertheless, was a staggerer. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he admitted, "I I hardly know what to say, 
 I will give in. To be right down honest and the Lord 
 kii^ws I hate to say it it wouldn't do for a minute to let 
 those two young folks get engaged to say nothin' of get- 
 tin' married with "- 1 is thing between 'em. It wouldn't 
 be fair to her, aor to Sam no, nor to him or you, either. 
 You see that, don't you?" he begged. "You know I don't 
 say it for any reason but just just for the best interests 
 of 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 thing would be for you to speak to him, put the ques- 
 tion right up to him, same as he's been puttin' it to him- 
 self all this time. Get him to talk 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 l o marry her in spite of 
 everything ? Suppose he won't listen to me at all ?"
 
 'SHAVINGS" 273 
 
 That possibility had been in Jed's mind from the begin- 
 ning, but he refused 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 
 persuaded him that coming here and hiding all all that 
 happened was the right thing to do. And now see what 
 has come of it! And it is all my 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 the best thing to do." 
 
 "Oh," reproachfully, "how can you say that ? You know 
 you were opposed to it always. You only say it because 
 you think it will comfort me. It isn't true." 
 
 "Eh? Now now, don't talk so. Please don't. If you 
 keep on talkin' that way I'll do somethin* desperate, start 
 to make a johnny cake out of sawdust, same as I did yes- 
 terday mornin', or somethin' 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 yesterday and fetched it home from the store all 
 done up in a nice neat bundle. Comin' through the shop 
 here I had it under my arm, and hum er well, to any- 
 body else it couldn't have happened, but, bein' Jed Shavin's 
 Winslow, I was luggin' the thing with the top of the bag 
 underneath. I got about abreast of the lathe there when 
 the string came off and in less'n two thirds of a shake all I 
 had under my arm was the bag ; the meal was on the floor 
 what wasn't in my coat pocket and stuck to my clothes and 
 so on. I fetched the water bucket and started to salvage 
 what I could of the cargo. Pretty soon I had, as nigh as 
 I could reckon it, about fourteen pound out of the five
 
 274 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 scooped up and in the bucket. I begun to think the miracle 
 of loaves and fishes was comin' to pass again. I was 
 some shy on fish, but I was makin' up on loaves. Then 
 I sort of looked matters over and found what I had in the 
 bucket was about one pound of meal to seven of sawdust. 
 Then I gave it up. Seemed to 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 window- 
 pane. Thank you, though. If anything could cheer me 
 up and help me to forget I think you could." 
 
 Jed looked repentant. "I'd no business to tell you all 
 that rigamarole," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm always doin' 
 the wrong thing, seems so. But," he added, earnestly, "I 
 don't want you to worry too much about your brother er 
 Ruth. It's goin' to come out all right, I know it. God 
 won't let it come out any other way." 
 
 She had never heard him speak in just that way before 
 and she looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "And yet God permits many things that seem entirely 
 wrong to us humans," 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 on brains, but a blind man could 
 see they never skimped me when they passed out the 
 bones." 
 
 She looked at him a moment. Then, suddenly leaning 
 forward, she put her hand upon his big red one as it lay 
 upon the bench. 
 
 "Jed," she said, earnestly, "what should I do without 
 you? You are my one present help in time of trouble. I 
 wonder if you know what you have come to mean to me." 
 
 It was an impulsive speech, made from the heart, and
 
 'SHAVINGS" 275 
 
 without thought of phrasing or that any meaning other 
 than that intended could be read into it. A moment later, 
 and without waiting for an answer, she hurried from the 
 shop. 
 
 "I must go," she said. "I shall think over your advice, 
 Jed, and I will let you know what I decide to do. Thank 
 you ever and ever so much." 
 
 Jed scarcely heard her. After she had gone, he sat 
 perfectly still by the bench for a long period, gazing ab- 
 sently at the bare wall of the shop and thinking strange 
 thoughts. After a time he rose and, walking into the lit- 
 tle sitting-room, sat down beside the ugly little oak writing 
 table he had bought at a second-hand sale and opened the 
 upper drawer. 
 
 Weeks before, Ruth, yielding to Babbie's urgent appeal, 
 had accompanied the latter to the studio of the local photog- 
 rapher and there they had been photographed, together, and 
 separately. The results, although not artistic triumphs, 
 being most inexpensive, had been rather successful as like- 
 nesses. Babbie had come trotting in to show Jed the proofs. 
 A day or so later he found one of the said 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 thing he had ever done. He put that proof in 
 the drawer of the oak writing table and said nothing of 
 his having found it. Later he made a wooden frame for 
 it and covered it with glass. It faded and turned black 
 as all proofs do, but still Jed kept it in the drawer and 
 often, very often, opened that drawer and looked at it. 
 Now he looked at it for a long, long time and when he rose 
 to go back to the shop there was in his mind, along with 
 the dream that had been there for days and weeks, for the 
 first time the faintest dawning of a hope. Ruth's im-
 
 276 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 pulsive speech, hastily and unthinkingly made, was re- 
 peating itself over and over in his brain. "I wonder if you 
 know what you have come to mean to me?" What had he 
 come to mean to her? 
 
 An hour later, as he sat at his bench, Captain Hunniwell 
 came banging in once more. But this time the captain 
 looked troubled. 
 
 "Jed," he asked, anxiously, "have you found anything 
 here since I went 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 the rose-bordered paths of fairyland and was 
 not eager to come back to earth. 
 
 "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 four hundred dollars of the fourteen hundred I 
 told you I collected from Sylvester Sage over to Wapato- 
 mac this mornin'. I had three packages of bills, two of five 
 hundred dollars each and one of four hundred. The two 
 five hundred packages were in the inside pocket of my over- 
 coat 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 
 coat here 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 which Captain Sam had thrown his coat upon; 
 entering the shop on his previous visit that day. Together
 
 'SHAVINGS" 277 
 
 they searched, painstakingly and at length. The captain 
 was the first to give up. 
 
 "Tain't here," he snapped. "I didn't think 'twas. 
 Where in time is 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 picked it up and shoved it in my over- 
 coat pocket. And that was a darned careless place to put 
 it, too," he added, testily. "I'd have given any feller that 
 worked for me the devil for doin' such a thing." 
 
 Jed nodded, sympathetically. "But you might have left 
 it there to Sylvester's," he said. "Have you thought of 
 telephonin' to find out?" 
 
 "Have I thought ? Tut, tut, tut ! Do you think I've got 
 a head like a 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 is shut up and the old man's gone to 
 Boston, so the postmaster told me when 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 differ- 
 ence. I swear I had that money when I left Sage's. I came 
 in here and then I 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. Nellie Hall my typewriter, you know she 
 knew where I'd been and what a crank 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 I hur-
 
 278 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ried in to 'tend to the folks that was waitin' for me. 'Twas 
 an hour later afore I went to my coat to get the cash. Then, 
 as I say, all I could find was the two five hundred packages. 
 The four hundred one was gone." 
 
 "Sho, sho ! Tut, tut, tut ! Where did you put the coat 
 when you took 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 speak loud?" 
 
 "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 out- 
 side the railin' 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 and old Aunt Emmeline and they were 
 waitin' in my private room. And except for Nellie and 
 Eddie Ellis, the messenger, and Charlie Phillips, there wan't 
 a soul around, as it happened. The money hasn't been 
 stolen; I lost it somewheres : but where? Well, I can't 
 stop here any longer. I'm goin' back to the bank to have 
 another hunt." 
 
 He banged out again. Fortunately he did not look at 
 his friend's face before he went. For that face had a sin- 
 gular expression upon it. Jed sat heavily down in the 
 chair by the bench. A vivid recollection of a recent remark 
 made in that very shop had suddenly come to him. Charlie 
 Phillips had made it in answer to a question of his own. 
 Charlie had declared that he would do almost anything to 
 get five hundred dollars.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE next morning found Jed heavy-eyed and with- 
 out appetite, going through the form of preparing 
 breakfast. All night, with the exception of an hour 
 or two, he had tossed on his bed alternately fearing the 
 worst and telling himself that his fears were groundless. 
 Of course Charlie Phillips had not stolen the four hundred 
 dollars. Had not he, Jed Winslow, loudly proclaimed to 
 Ruth Armstrong that he knew her brother to be a fine 
 young man, one who had been imprudent, it is true, but 
 much more sinned against than sinning and who would 
 henceforth, so he was willing to swear, be absolutely up- 
 right and honest ? Of course the fact that a sum of money 
 was missing from the Orham National Bank, where Phil- 
 lips was employed, did not necessarily imply that the latter 
 had taken it. 
 
 Not necessarly, that was true; but Charlie had, in Jed's 
 presence, expressed himself as needing money, a sum ap- 
 proximately that which was missing; and he had added 
 that he would do almost anything to get it. And there 
 was nc use tc/Hng oneself that the fact had no bearing 
 on the case, because it would bear heavily with any un- 
 prejudiced pei son Charlie's record was against him. Jed 
 loyally told himself over and over again that the boy was 
 innocent, he knew he was innocent. But The dread- 
 ful "but" came back again and again 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 many possibilities. Twice he stopped at 
 
 370
 
 280 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 the bank to ask Captain Sam concerning 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'!! probably 
 keep afloat even if it never turns up. And 'twill turn up 
 sooner or later ; it's bound to. There's a chance that I left 
 it at old Sage's. Soon's the old cuss gets back and I cam 
 catch him by telephone I'll find out. 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'. Once 
 let 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 the inmates of the little house, watched Charles' 
 face when he came home after working hours, watched 
 the face of his sister as she went forth on a. marketing 
 expedition, even scrutinized Babbie's laughing countenance 
 as she came dancing into the shop, swinging Petunia by 
 one arm. And it was from Babbie he first learned that, 
 in spite of all Captain Hunniwell's precautions, some one 
 had dropped a hint. It may as well be recorded here that 
 the identity of that some one was never clearly established. 
 There were suspicions, centering about the bank messen- 
 ger, but he stoutly denied having told a living soul. 
 
 Barbara, who was on her way home from school, and had 
 rescued the long-suffering Petunia from the front fence 
 where she had been left suspended on a picket to await 
 her parent's return, was bubbling over with news and gig- 
 gles. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Jed," she demanded, jumping up to perch 
 pantimg upon a stack of the front elevations of birdhouses, 
 "isn't Mr. Gabe Bearse awfully funny ?"
 
 'SHAVINGS" 281 
 
 Jed sighed. "Yes," he said, "Gabe's as funny as a jump- 
 in' toothache." 
 
 The young lady regarded him doubtfully. "I see," she 
 said, after a moment, "you're joking again. I wish you'd 
 tell me when you're going to do it, so Petunia and I would 
 know for sure." 
 
 "All right, I'll try not to forget to remember. But how 
 did you guess I was jokin' this time?" 
 
 " 'Cause you just had to be. A jumping toothache isn't 
 funny. I had one once and it made me almost sick." 
 
 "Um-hm. W-e-e-11, Gabe Bearse makes 'most everybody 
 sick. What set you thinkin' about him?" 
 
 " 'Cause I just met him on the way home and he acted 
 o 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 ?' 
 And when I said I did he gave me a stick, the striped pep- 
 permint kind it was. I'd have saved a bite for you, Uncle 
 Jed, only I and the rest 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 cross- 
 ways, I guess likely. But tell me, did Gabe look wild or out 
 of his head when he gave 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 a good many years and this is the first time I 
 ever knew him to give anybody anything worth while. 
 When I went to school with him he gave me the measles, I 
 remember, but even then they was only imitation the Ger- 
 man kind. And now he's givin' away candy: Tut: tut!
 
 282 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 
 say anything about a lot of money being gone up to the 
 bank. He said he had heard it was ever and ever so much 
 a hundred hundred dollars or a thousand dollars, or 
 something I don't precactly remember, but it was a great, 
 big lot. And he wanted to know if Uncle Charlie had said 
 how much it was and what had become of it and and 
 everything. When I said Uncle Charlie hadn't said a word 
 he looked so sort of disappointed and funny that it made 
 me laugh." 
 
 It did not make Jed laugh. The thought that the knowl- 
 edge of the missing money had leaked out and was being 
 industriously spread abroad by Bearse and his like was very 
 disquieting. He watched Phillips more closely than be- 
 fore. He watched Ruth, and, before another day had 
 passed, he had devised a wonderful plan, a plan to be car- 
 ried out in case of alarming eventualities. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day he sat before his work- 
 bench, his knee clasped between his hands, his foot swing- 
 ing, and his thoughts busy with the situation in all its 
 alarming phases. It had been bad enough before this new 
 development, bad enough when the always present danger 
 of Phillips' secret being discovered had become compli- 
 cated by his falling in love with his employer's daughter. 
 
 But now Suppose the boy had stolen the money? 
 
 Suppose he was being 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 more ago he had removed the bell from the door. 
 His excuse for so doing had been characteristic.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 283 
 
 "I can't stand the wear and tear on my morals," he told 
 Ruth. "I ain't sold anything, except through the mail, since 
 the winter really set in. And yet every time that bell rings 
 I find myself jumpin' up and runnin' to wait on a cus- 
 tomer. When it turns out to be Gabe Bearse or somebody 
 like him I swear, and swearin' to me is like whiskey to 
 some folks comfortin' but demoralizin'." 
 
 So the bell having been removed, Jed did not hear the 
 person who came into and through the outer shop. The 
 first sign of that person's presence which reached his ears 
 was an unpleasant chuckle. He turned, to see Mr. Phineas 
 Babbitt standing in the doorway of the inner room. And 
 this was the most annoying and disturbing fact connected 
 with the sight the hardware dealer was not scowling, he 
 was laughing. The Winslow foot fell to the floor with a 
 thump and its owner sat up straight. 
 
 "He, he, he!" chuckled Phineas. Jed regarded him si- 
 lently. Babbitt's chuckle subsided into a grin. Then he 
 spoke. - 
 
 "Well," he observed, with sarcastic politeness, "how's 
 the great Shavin's Jedidah, the famous inventor of whirla- 
 gigs? He, he, he!" 
 
 Jed slowly shook his head. "Phin," he said, "either you 
 wear rubbers or I'm gettin' deaf, one or the other. How 
 in the woild did you get in here this time without my 
 hearin' you?" 
 
 Phineas ignored the question. He asked one of his own. 
 "How's the only original high and mighty patriot this aft- 
 ernoon?" he sneered. 
 
 The Winslow hand caressed the Winslow chin. 
 
 "If you mean me, Phin," drawled Jed, "I'm able to sit 
 up and take nourishment, thank you. I judge you must be 
 kind of ailin', though. Take a seat, won't you?"
 
 284 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "No, I won't. I've got other fish to fry, bigger fish than 
 you, at that" 
 
 "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't it?" 
 
 "They're goin' to fry, you hear me. Yes, and they're 
 goin' to sizzle. 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 since you came in here." 
 
 His visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead. Je(f 
 beamed gratification. 
 
 "That's it," he said. "Now you look more natural. FeeJ- 
 in' a little better . . . eh?" 
 
 The Babbitt chin beard bristled. Its wearer leaned for- 
 ward. 
 
 "Shut up," he commanded. "I ain't takin' any of your 
 sass this afternoon, Shavin's, and I ain't cal'latin' to waste 
 much time on you, neither. You know where I'm bound 
 now? Well, I'm bound up to the 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 in trouble, they 
 tell me, and I want to help him out. . . . Blast him!" 
 
 This time Jed made no reply; but he, too, leaned for- 
 ward arid his gaze was fixed upon the hardware dealer's 
 face. There was an expression upon his own face which, 
 when Phineas saw it, caused the latter to chuckle once more. 
 
 "He, he!" he laughed. "What's the matter, Shavin's? 
 You look kind of scared about somethin'. 'Tain't possible 
 you've known all along what I've just found out? I won- 
 der 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 wonde~ what makes you look
 
 "SHAVINGS" 285 
 
 so scared. There's nothin' to be scared about, as I see. I'm 
 just cal'latin' to do our dear old chummie, Cap'n Sam, a 
 kindness, that's all. He's lost some money up there to the 
 bank, I understand. Some says it's four thousand dollars 
 and some says it's forty. It don't make any difference, that 
 part don't. Whatever 'tis it's missin' and I'm going to tell 
 him where to find it. That's real good of me, ain't it? Ain't 
 it, Shavin's; eh?" 
 
 The little man's malignant spite and evident triumph 
 were actually frightening. And it was quite evident that 
 Jed was frightened. Yet he made an effort not to ap- 
 pear so. 
 
 "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, yes, seems 's if 'twas. Er 
 er Where is 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't dividin' 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 what are you talkin' about, Phin?" 
 
 " 'What are you talkin' about, Phin ?' God sakes, hear 
 him, will you! 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 Charlie Phillips, 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 Connecticut State's 
 prison for stealin'. And I know it." 
 
 Jed groaned aloud. :Iere it was at last. The single hair 
 had parted and the sword had fallen. And now, of all 
 times, now ! He made a pitiful attempt at denial. 
 
 "It ain't so," he protested.
 
 286 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 was lookin' out of the window when this Phil- 
 lips cuss went by with Maud Hunniwell, both of 'em strut- 
 tin' along as if common folks, honest folks, was dirt under 
 their feet. And when this drummer see 'em he swore right 
 out loud. 'Why/ says he, 'that's Charlie Phillips, of Mid- 
 dleford, ain't it?' 'His name's Phillips and he comes from 
 Connecticut somewheres,' says I. 'I thought he was in 
 state's prison,' says he. 'What do you mean ?' says I. And 
 then he told me. 'By godf reys/ says I, 'if you can fix it so's 
 I can prove that's true I'll give you the biggest order you 
 ever got in this store.' ' 'Twon't be any trouble to prove 
 it/ says he. 'All you've got to do is look up his record in 
 Middleford.' And I've looked 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 
 you knew so much why have you been waitin' all this time 
 before you told it? If you found out all this this pack of 
 rubbish in January 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 was for runnin' right out in the street and hoilerin' 
 to all hands to come and hear the good news about Sam 
 Hunniwell's pet. And then thinks 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 liable to try it again. 
 
 Let's wait and see.' And I waited, ind He, he, he! 
 
 ne has tried it again. Eh, Shavin's ?" 
 
 Jed was speechless. Babbitt, looking like a triumphantly 
 vicious Bantam tooster, crowed on.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 287 
 
 "You don't seem to be quite so sassy and talky as you 
 was when I first came in, Shavin's," he sneered. "Guess 
 likely you ain't feelin' well now ... eh? Do you remem- 
 ber what I told you last time I was in this shop? I told 
 you I'd pay my debts to you and Sam Hunniwell if I waited 
 fifty year. Well, here's Hunniwell's pay comin' to him now. 
 He's praised that Phillips thief from one end of Ostable 
 County to the other, told how smart he was and how honest 
 and good he was till Lord A'mighty, it's enough to turn 
 a decent man's stomach! And not only that, but here's 
 the feller courtin' his daughter. Oh, ho, ho, ho ! that's the 
 best of the whole business. That was another thing made 
 me hang off and wait ; I wanted to see how the courtin' came 
 along. And it's come along all right. Everybody's onto 
 'em, hangin' over each other, and lookin' soft at each 
 other. She's just fairly heavin' herself at his head, all 
 hands says so. There ain't been anybody in this town 
 good enough for her till he showed up. And now it's 
 comin' out that 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. Jed leaned 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 all along." 
 
 "I say allowin' it is, you haven't any right to say Charlie 
 took this money from the Orham bank. You can't prove 
 any such thing." 
 
 "Aw, be still! Prove prove nothin'. When a cat and 
 a sasser of milk's shut up together and the milk's gone, 
 you don't need proof to know where it's gone, do you? 
 Don't talk to me about proof, Jed Winslow. Put a thief
 
 288 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 alongside of money and anybody knows what'll happen. 
 Why, you know what's happened yourself. You know darn 
 well Charlie Phillips has stole the money that's gone from 
 the bank. Down inside you you're sartin sure of it ; and I 
 don't want any better proof of that than just your face, 
 Shavin's." 
 
 This time Jed did not attempt to contradict. Instead he 
 tried a new hazard. 
 
 "Phin," he pleaded, "don't be too hard. Just think of 
 what'll happen 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 me as if I was some sort of of a bug she wouldn't 
 want to step on for fear 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-one and 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'll remember. Where is he now? Out somewheres 
 where he don't belong, fightin' and bein' killed to help Wall 
 Street get rich. And who sent him there? Why, Sam 
 Hunniwell and his gang. You're one of 'em, Jed Winslow. 
 To hell with you, every one of you, daughters and 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 
 poor fool, do you think you can talk me out of this? You, 
 you sawdust-head? What do you think I came into youi 
 hole here for? I came here 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'
 
 "SHAVINGS" 285 
 
 the fun, plenty of it. Squirm, you Wall Street blood- 
 sucker, squirm." 
 
 He fairly stood on tiptoe to scream the last command. 
 To a disinterested observer the scene might have had some 
 elements of farce comedy. Certainly Phineas, his hat fallen 
 off and under foot, his scanty gray hair tousled and his 
 pugnacious chin beard bristling, was funny to look at. And 
 the idea of calling Jed Winslow a "Wall Street blood- 
 sucker" was the cream of burlesque. But to Jed himself 
 it was all tragedy, deep and dreadful. He made one more 
 desperate plea. 
 
 "But, Phin," he begged, "think of his his sister, 
 Charlie's sister. What'll become of her and and her lit- 
 tle girl?" 
 
 Phineas snorted. "His sister," he sneered. "All right, 
 I'll think about her all right. She's another stuck-up that 
 don't speak to common folks. Who knows anything about 
 her any more'n they did about him? Better look up her 
 record, I guess. The boy's turned out to be a thief ; maybe 
 the sister'll turn out to be " 
 
 "Stop! Be still!" 
 
 Jed actually shouted it. Babbitt stopped, principally be- 
 cause the suddenness of the interruption had startled him 
 into doing so. But the pause was only momentary. He 
 stared at the interrupter in enraged amazement for an in- 
 stant and then demanded: "Stop? Who are you tellin' 
 to stop ?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 "I want to know! Well, I'll stop when I get good and 
 ready and if you don't like it, Shavin's, you can lump it. 
 That Phillips kid has turned out to be a thief and, so far 
 as anybody 'round here knows, his sister may be " 
 
 "Stop !" Again Jed shouted it ; and this time he rose to 
 his feet. Phineas glared at him.
 
 290 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Humph!" he grunted. "You'll make me stop, I pre- 
 sume likely." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 "Yes, it's got to be so. Look here, Phin, I realize you're 
 mad and don't care much what you say, but there's a limit, 
 you know. It's bad enough to hear you call poor Charlie 
 names, but when you start in on Ruth on Mrs. Armstrong, 
 I mean that's too much. You've got to stop." 
 
 This speech was made quietly and with all the customary 
 Winslow deliberation and apparent calm, but there was 
 one little slip in it and that slip Babbitt was quick to notice. 
 
 "Oh, my!" he sneered. "Ruth's what we call her, eh? 
 Ruth! Got so chummy we call each other by our first 
 names. Ruthie and Jeddie, I presume likely. Aw, haw, 
 haw !" 
 
 Jed's pallor was, for the moment, succeeded by a vivid 
 crimson. He stammered. Phineas burst into another 
 scornful laugh. 
 
 "Haw, haw, haw!" he crowed. "She lets him call her 
 Ruth. Oh, my Lord A'mighty! Let's Shavin's Winslow 
 call her that. Well, I guess I sized her up all right. She 
 must be about on her brother's leVel. 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 to where Babbitt was standing, seized the furious lit- 
 tle creature by the right arm with one hand and with the 
 other covered his open mouth, covered not only the mouth, 
 but a large section of face as well. 
 
 "You keep quiet Phin," he drawled. "I want to think."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 291 
 
 Phineas struggled frantically. He managed to get one 
 corner of his mouth from behind that mammoth hand. 
 
 "Ruth Armstrong!" he screamed. "Ruth Armstrong 
 
 
 The yell died away to a gurgle, pinched short by the 
 Winslow fingers. Then the door leading to the kitchen, 
 the door behind the pair, opened and Ruth Armstrong her- 
 self came in. She was pale and she stared with frightened 
 eyes at the little man struggling in the tall 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 my name. I was in the yard and I heard it. ... 
 Oh, Jed, what is it ?" 
 
 Babbitt at last managed to wriggle partially clear. He was 
 crazy with rage, but he was not frightened. Fear of physi- 
 cal violence was not in his make-up ; he was no coward. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "I'll tell you what 
 it is : I've found out about you and that stuck-up crook of 
 a brother of yours. He's a thief. That's what he is, a 
 thief and a jailbird. 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 the Winslow grip and the Winslow h?nd. He 
 wriggled and fought, but he was pinned and helpless, hands, 
 feet and vocal organs. Jed did not so 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 know what he means."
 
 292 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 From behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mum- 
 ble. Ruth leaned forward. 
 
 "Jed," she begged, "does he does he know about 
 about " 
 
 Jed nodded. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly, 
 but she did not collapse or give way. 
 
 "And he is going to tell?" she whispered. 
 
 A furious mumble from behind the fingers and a venom- 
 ous flash from the 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 lip twitched grimly as he looked down at the crimson 
 face above his own hand. 
 
 "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 the subject. His eyes were bulging. Then all three 
 heard the door of the outer shop open. 
 
 Ruth looked desperately about her. She hastened to the 
 door by which she had entered. "There's some one com- 
 ing," she whispered. 
 
 Jed glanced over his shoulder. "You go away," he whis- 
 pered in reply. "Go away, Ruth. Hurry !" 
 
 Her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she 
 could open it the other door, that leading from the outer 
 shop, opened and Leonard Grover came in. He stared at 
 the picture before him at Ruth Armstrong's pale, fright- 
 ened face, at Babbitt struggling in his captor's clutch, at 
 Jed. 
 
 "Why!" he exclaimed. "What is it?" 
 
 No one answered. Phineas was the only one who stirred. 
 He seemed anxious to turn the tableau into a moving pic-
 
 "SHAVINGS" 293 
 
 ture, but his success was limited. The Major turned to 
 Ruth. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked again. 
 
 She was silent. Grover repeated his question, addressing 
 Jed this time. 
 
 "Well?" he asked, sharply. "What is the trouble here? 
 What has that fellow been doing?" 
 
 Jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "He's 
 
 he's " he stammered. "Well, you see, Major, he ... 
 
 Hum . . . well, I'm afraid I can't tell you." 
 
 "You can't tell me! What on earth Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, will you tell me?" 
 
 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 to the door. 
 
 "Pardon me for interrupting," he observed. "Good after- 
 noon." 
 
 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 to finish it when Mr. Babbitt took the center of the 
 stage. Once more he managed to free himself from Jed's 
 grip and this time he darted across the shop and put the 
 workbench between himself and his enemy. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "I've found out 
 some things they don't want anybody to know, that's what. 
 I've found out what sort of folks they are, she and her 
 brother. He's a common Let go of me! By " 
 
 The scream ended in another mumble. Jed had swarmed 
 over the bench and once more pinned him fast.
 
 294 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 say- 
 ing things he should 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 com- 
 manded. Jed hesitated. 
 
 "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. Major Grover stepped in front of him and leveled 
 a forefinger straight at the 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 about this lady " 
 
 "I ain't been saying anything, except what I know, and 
 that is that " 
 
 "Stop! And I don't care. But I know about you, sir, 
 because it is my business to know. The Government has 
 had its eye on you for some time and it has asked me to 
 look into your record. I have looked into it. You are not 
 & very dangerous person, Mr. Babbitt, but that is because 
 of your lack of ability to harm, not because of any good will 
 on your part toward the United States. You have done 
 all the harm you could, you have talked sedition, you've 
 written and talked against the draft, you have corrc-
 
 'SHAVINGS" 295 
 
 sponded with German agents in Boston and New York." 
 
 "That's a lie." 
 
 "No, it's the truth. I have copies of your letters and 
 the Government has the originals. They are not very dan- 
 gerous, but that is because you are not big enough to be 
 dangerous. The authorities have left you pretty much to 
 my discretion, sir. It rests with me whether to have you 
 taken in charge and held for trial or merely to warn you 
 and watch you. Very well. I warn you now and you 
 may be certain that you are watched. You'll stop your 
 silly, seditious talk at once and you'll write no more letters 
 like those I have seen. If you do it will be a prison term 
 for you as sure as I stand here. Do you understand ?" 
 
 Apparently Phineas understood. His face was not as 
 red as it had been and there was a different look in his eye. 
 Jed's rough handling had not frightened him, but the 
 Major's cold, incisive tones 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 scared of you even if you are all dressed up in fuss 
 and feathers like a hand-organ monkey. This is a free 
 country." 
 
 "Yes, it is. For decent people it is absolutely free. The 
 other sort have to be put where they can't interfere with 
 that freedom. Whether you, Babbit, remain free or not 
 depends entirely upon what you do and say. Is this per- 
 fectly clear?" 
 
 Phineas did not answer the question directly. For a 
 moment he stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, 
 and his eyes snapping. Then he turned away. 
 
 "All right," he said, sullenly. "I hear what you say. 
 Now I can go, I presume likely unless you've got some 
 more lyin' and bullyin' to do. Get out of my way, Shavin's, 
 you fool."
 
 296 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 But Grover had not finished with him. 
 
 "Just a minute," he said. "There is one thing more. I 
 don't know what it is, and I don't wish to know, but evi- 
 dently you have been saying, or threatening to say, some- 
 thing concerning this lady, Mrs. Armstrong, which should 
 not be said. You are not to mention her name. Do you 
 understand that?" 
 
 The little hardware dealer almost jumped from the floor 
 as his rage again got the better of him. 
 
 "The blazes I ain't!" he shrieked. "Who says I ain't? 
 Is that any of your business, Mr. Mr. Brass Monkey? 
 What's you or the United States gov'ment got to say about 
 my mentionin' names ? To the devil with the United States 
 and you, too ! You hear that ?" 
 
 Major Grover smiled. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I hear 
 it. So does Mr. Winslow here, and Mrs. Armstrong. They 
 can be called as witnesses if it is necessary. You had bet- 
 ter 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 reflecting upon her character " 
 
 "Or her brother's either," put in Jed, eagerly. "Tell him 
 he can't talk against Charlie, either." 
 
 "Certainly. You are not to repeat or circulate anything 
 derogatory to the character of either Mrs. Armstrong or 
 Mr. Phillips. In any way derogatory." 
 
 Phineas tossed both fists in the air. 
 
 "You can't order me around that way," he yelled. "Be- 
 sides, if you knew 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 discre- 
 tion my judgment in your case. And my judgment is that
 
 'SHAVINGS" 297 
 
 if I hear one scandalous story about town reflecting upon 
 the character of Mrs. Armstrong or her brother yes, or 
 her friends I shall know who is responsible and I shall 
 have you arrested and held for trial as an enemy of the 
 country. You condemned the United States to the devil 
 only a moment ago in my hearing. Do you think that 
 would help you in court, Babbitt? I don't." 
 
 The little man's face was a sight. As Jed said after~ 
 ward, he looked as if he would have enjoyed biting his way 
 out of the shop. 
 
 "Huh!" he snarled; "I see. You're all in together, th* 
 whole lot of you. And you, you brass buttons, you're usin* 
 your soldierin' job to keep your friends out of trouble. . . 
 Huh ! Yes, that's what you're doin'." 
 
 The Major's smile was provokingly cool. 
 
 "Perhaps I am," he admitted. "But I shouldn't advise 
 you to forget what I have just told you, Babbitt. I mean 
 every word of it." 
 
 It was Ruth who spoke next. She uttered a startled ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "There's some one coming up the walk," she cried. "Lis- 
 ten." 
 
 Sure enough, heavy footsteps sounded upon the walk 
 leading from the front 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't come?" he asked. 
 
 Jed and Ruth were silent. Phineas chuckled malevo- 
 lently. Jed heard the chuckle and spoke. 
 
 " Twas 'twas Cap'n Sam he was goin' to tell," he whis-
 
 298 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 pered, pointing at Babbitt. Ruth caught her breath with a 
 frightened gasp. 
 
 Grover nodded. "Oh, 1 see," he said. "Well, I don't 
 think he will. He'll be more more careful, I'm sure. 
 Babbitt, remember." 
 
 They heard the captain rattle the latch of the front door. 
 Ruth opened 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 like to have you stay here just a minute or two." 
 
 Grover hesitated. Ruth went out, closing the living-room 
 door after her. A moment later Captain Sam came into 
 the workshop. 
 
 "Hello, Jed!" he hailed. "Why, hello, Major! 
 
 What " Then for the first time he saw and recognized 
 
 the third member of the group. He looked at Phineas and 
 the little man looked at him. The looks were studies in 
 expression. 
 
 "Humph!" grunted Captain Sam. "What in time ? 
 
 , . . Humph! . . . Well, Phin, you look awful glad to see 
 me, I must say. Gracious king, man, don't glower at me 
 like that! I haven't done anything to 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 whim- 
 sical twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Mr. Babbitt and I have just been discussing some points 
 connected with 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't say! ... Well, I Eh, what is it, Jed?"
 
 "SHAVINGS" 299 
 
 If any one had been watching Jed particularly during 
 the recent few minutes they might have observed in his 
 face the dawning of an idea and the changing of that idea 
 into a set purpose. The idea seemed to dawn the moment 
 after he saw Captain Hunniwell coming up the walk. It 
 had become a purpose by the time the captain rattled the 
 latch. While Captain Sam and the major were speaking 
 he had hastened to the old desk standing by the wall and 
 was rummaging in one of the drawers. Now he came for- 
 ward. 
 
 "Sam " he began, but broke off to address Mr. Bab- 
 bitt, who was striding toward the door. "Don't go, Phin," 
 he cried. "I'd rather you didn't go just this minute. I'd 
 like to have you stay. Please." 
 
 Phineas answered over his shoulder. The answer was a 
 savage snarl and a command for "Shavings" to mind his 
 own business. Grover spoke then. 
 
 "Mr. Babbitt," he suggested, "don't you think you had 
 better stay a moment? Mr. Winslow seems to wish it." 
 
 Babbitt reached for the handle of the door, but Grover's 
 hand was lightly laid on his shoulder. 
 
 "Do stay, Mr. Babbitt," begged the Major, sweetly. "To 
 oblige me, you kno"w." 
 
 Phineas swore with such vehemence that the oath might 
 have been heard across the road. What he might have said 
 thereafter is a question. At that moment his attention was 
 caught by something which 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 quite oblivious of the Babbitt stare, or, for 
 that matter, of the complete silence which had so sud- 
 denly fallen upon the group in the shop. He came for- 
 ward, smoothing the crumpled notes with fingers which 
 shook a little. He stopped in front of Captain Hunniwell, 
 The captain was gazing at him and at the money. Jed did 
 not meet his friend's eye ; he continued to smooth the bank- 
 notes. Captain Sam spoke first. 
 
 "What's that?" he demanded. "What money's that?" 
 
 Jed's fingers moved back and forth across the bills and 
 he answered without looking up. He seemed much em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 "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 over to Wapatomac. You re- 
 member that, don't you?" 
 
 Captain Sam looked at him in puzzled surprise. "Re- 
 member it?" he repeated. "Course I remember it. Gra- 
 cious king, 'tain't likely I'd forget it, is it ?" 
 
 Jed nodded. "No-o," he drawled, solemnly. "No, 
 course you couldn'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, you 
 understand. I want Major Grover and Phineas here to 
 understand the the whole of it. There's a lot of talk, 
 
 300
 
 "SHAVINGS" 301 
 
 seems so, around town about money bein' missin' from the 
 bank " 
 
 Captain Sam interrupted. "The deuce there is!" he ex- 
 claimed. "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 
 asked Babbie about it, and Phin here he " 
 
 "Eh?" The captain turned to face his old enemy. "So 
 you've been talkin', have you?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Babbitt leaned forward. "I ain't begun my talkin' 
 yet, Sam Hunniwell," he snarled. "When I do you'll " 
 
 He stopped. Grover had touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Sshh !" said the Major quietly. To the absolute amaze- 
 ment of Captain Sam, Phineas subsided. His face was 
 blazing red and he seemed to be boiling inside, but he did 
 not say another word. Jed seized the opportunity to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 "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. You went over to Sylvester Sage's in Wapatomac and 
 he paid you four hundred dollars. When you got back 
 home here fourteen hundred of it was missin'. No, no, I 
 don't mean that. I mean you couldn't find fourteen hun- 
 dred I mean " 
 
 The captain's patience was, as he himself often said, 
 moored with a short cable. The cable parted now. 
 
 "Gracious king!" he snapped. "Jed, if that yarn you're 
 tryin' to spin was wound in a ball and a kitten was playin' 
 with it you couldn't be worse snarled up. What he's 
 tryin' to tell you," he explained, turning to Grover, "is that 
 the other day, when I was over to Wapatomac, old Sylves- 
 ter Sage over there paid me fourteen hundred dollars in 
 cash and when I got back here all I could find was a thou-
 
 302 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 sand. 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 what are 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 what I was goin' to tell you. You see you see, 
 that's the four hundred you lost. I I found it." 
 
 Major Grover looked surprised. Phineas Babbitt looked 
 more surprised. But, oddly enough, it was Captain Sana 
 Hunniwell who appeared to be most surprised by his 
 friend's statement. The captain seemed absolutely dumb' 
 founded. 
 
 "You you what?" he cried. 
 
 Jed smoothed the bills in his hand. "I found it, Sam," 
 he repeated. "Here 'tis here." 
 
 He extended the bundle of banknotes. The captain 
 made no move to take them. Jed held them a little nearer. 
 
 "You you'd better take it, Sam," he urged. "It might 
 get lost again, you know." 
 
 Still Captain Sam made no move. He looked from the 
 bills in Jed's hands to Jed's face and back again. The ex- 
 pression on his own face was 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 the money was in your overcoat pocket and 
 and when you came in here on your way back from Syl- 
 vester's you hove your coat over onto those boards. I pre- 
 sume likely the the money must have fell out of the 
 pocket then. You see, don't you, Sam ?" 
 
 The tone in which the question was asked was one, al-
 
 "SHAVINGS" 303 
 
 most, of pleading. 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 it or put it in his pocket. He merely took it and 
 looked at the man who had given it to him. 
 
 Jed's confusion seemed to increase. "Don't you don't 
 you think you'd better count it, Sam?" he stammered. "If 
 if the Major here and Phin see you count it and and 
 know it's all right, then they'll be able to contradict the 
 stories that's goin' around about so much bein' stolen, you 
 fcnow." 
 
 The captain grunted. 
 
 "Stolen?" he repeated. "You said folks were talkin' 
 about money bein' lost. Have they been sayin' 'twas 
 stolen?" 
 
 It was Grover who answered. "I haven't heard any 
 such rumors," he said. "I believe Lieutenant Rayburn said 
 he heard some idle report about the bank's having lost a 
 sum of money, but there was no hint at 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 his shoulder. 
 
 "I'm sure he hasn't," observed the Major. The captain 
 paid no attention to him. 
 
 "Have you?" he repeated, addressing Babbitt. 
 
 The little man shook from head to foot. The glare wit'h 
 which he regarded his hated rival might have frightened a 
 timid person. But Captain Sam Hunniwell was distinctly 
 not timid.
 
 304 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Have you?" he asked, for the third time. 
 
 Phineas' mouth opened, but Grover's fingers tightened 
 on his shouiaer and what came out of that mouth was 
 merely a savage repetition of his favorite retort, "None of 
 your darned business." 
 
 "Yes, 'tis my business," began Captain Sam, but Jed in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 "I don't see as it makes any difference whether he's heard 
 anything or not, Sam," he suggested eagerly. "No matter 
 what he's heard, it ain't so, because there couldn't have been 
 anything stolen. There was only four hundred missin'. 
 I've found that and you've got it back; so that settles it, 
 don't it?" 
 
 "It certainly would seem as if it did," observed Grover. 
 "Congratulations, Captain Hunniwell. You're fortunate 
 that so honest a man found the money, I should say." 
 
 The captain merely grunted. The odd expression was 
 still on his face. Jed turned to the other two. 
 
 "Er er Major Grover," he said, "if if you hear any 
 yarns now about money bein' missin' or- or stolen you 
 can contradict 'em now, 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 the door. 
 
 "Let me out of here," he snarled. "I'm goin 1 home." 
 
 No one offered to detain him, but as he threw open the 
 door to the outer shop Leonard Grover followed him. 
 
 "Just a moment, Babbitt," he said. "I'll go as far as the 
 gate with you, if you don't mind. Good afternoon, Jed. 
 Good afternoon, Captain, and once more congratulations. 
 . . . Here, Babbitt, wait a moment." 
 
 Phineas did not wait, but even so his pursuer caught 
 him before he reached the gate. Jed, who had run to the
 
 'SHAVINGS" 305 
 
 window, saw the Major and the hardware dealer in ear- 
 nest conversation. The former seemed to be doing most 
 of the talking. Then they separated, Grover remaining by 
 the gate and Phineas striding off in the direction of his 
 shop. He was muttering to himself and his face was work- 
 ing with emotion. Between baffled malice and suppressed 
 hatred he looked almost as if he were going to cry. Even 
 amid his own feelings of thankfulness and relief Jed felt 
 a pang of pity for Phineas Babbitt. The little man was 
 the incarnation of spite and envy and vindictive bitterness, 
 but Jed was sorry for him, just as he would have been 
 sorry for a mosquito which had bitten him. He might be 
 obliged to crush the creature, but he would feel that it 
 was not much to blame for the bite; both it and Phineas 
 could not help being as they were they were made that 
 way. 
 
 He heard an exclamation at his shoulder and turned to 
 find that Captain 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 to obeyin' orders from that Grover man all 
 to once? I always thought he 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 looked at 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 four hundred dollars." 
 
 Jed was a good deal taken aback. He had not expected 
 an answer of that kind. His embarrassment and confusion 
 returned.
 
 306 "SHAVINGS'" 
 
 "Why why," he stammered, "is is that funny, Sam? 
 I don't I don't know's I get what you mean. What's 
 what is there funny about my findin' that money?" 
 
 The captain stepped across the shop, pulled forward a 
 chair and seated 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 hu- 
 mor's gettin' cross-eyed or or somethin'. I did think I 
 could see somethin' funny in it, but most likely I was mis- 
 taken. Sit down, Jed, and tell 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. I just er found it, that's all. . . . Say, you ain't 
 seen that new gull vane of mine lately, have you? I got 
 her so she can flop her wings 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, net with eagerness, but more as if he could 
 think of no excuse for refusing. His companion tilted 
 back in his chair, lit a cigar, and bade him heave ahead. 
 
 "Well," began Jed, "I I you see, Sam, I happened to 
 look behind that heap of boards there and " 
 
 "What made you think of lookin' behind those boards?" 
 
 "Eh? Why, nothin' 'special. I just happened to look. 
 That's where 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."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 307 
 
 "Gracious king, course I know! You've told me that 
 no less than ten 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 some more. 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 I come 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 it fell 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' this money. It's so so sort of unexpected, as yu 
 might say. If that band came off it must have broke when 
 the money tumbled down behind the 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.
 
 308 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Why, the paper band with the '$400' on it. I'd like to 
 see if it broke. . . . Humph !" he added, peering down into 
 fhe dark crevice between the boards and the wall of the 
 shop. "Can't see anything of it, can you?" 
 
 Jed, peering solemnly down, shook his head. "No," he 
 said. "I can't see anything of it." 
 
 "But it may be there, for all that." He reached down. 
 "Humph!" he exclaimed. "I can't touch bottom. Jed t 
 you've got a longer arm than I have; let's see if you can.' f 
 
 Jed, sprawled upon the heap of lumber, stretched his 
 arm as far as it would go. "Hum," he drawled, "I can't 
 quite make it, Sam. . . . There's a place where she nar^ 
 rows way down here and I can't get my fingers through it." 
 
 "Is that so? Then we'd better give up lookin' for the 
 band, I cal'late. Didn't amount to anything, anyhow. Tell 
 me more about what you did when you found the money. 
 You must have been surprised." 
 
 "Eh? . . . Land sakes, I was. I don't know's I ever 
 was so surprised 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 you found it Let's see, you found it this morn- 
 
 in', 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 or the 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 "
 
 'SHAVINGS" 309 
 
 "It's lucky you hadn't moved those boards. If you'd 
 shifted them any since I threw my coat on 'em you might 
 not have found it for a month, not till you used up the 
 whole pile. Lucky you looked afore you shifted the lum- 
 ber." 
 
 "Yes . . . yes, that's so. That's a fact. But, Sam, 
 hadn't you better take that money back to the bank? The 
 folks up there don't know it's been found y^t. They'll be 
 some surprised, too." 
 
 "So they will. All hands'll be surprised. And when I 
 tell 'em how you happened to see that money lyin' in a 
 pile on the floor behind those boards and couldn't scarcely 
 believe your eyes, and couldn't believe 'em until you'd 
 
 reached down and picked up the money, and counted 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 more surprised if I should bring 'em here and show 'tm 
 the place where you found it. 'Twould surprise 'most any- 
 body to know that there was a man livin' who could see 
 down a black crack four foot deep and two inches wide 
 and around a corner in that crack and see money lyin' on 
 the floor, and know 'twas money, and then stretch his arm 
 out a couple of foot more and thin his wrist down until it 
 was less than an inch through and pick up that money. 
 That would surprise 'em. Don't you think 'twould, Jed?" 
 
 The color left Jed's face. His mouth fell open and he 
 stared blankly at his friend. The latter chuckled. 
 
 "Don't you th'rk 'twould surprise 'em, Jed?" he re- 
 peated. " c iems likely as if 'tworld. It surprised me all 
 vight enough." 
 
 The color came surging back. Jed's cheeks flamed. He 
 tried to speak, but what he said was not coherent nor par- 
 i cularly intelligible.
 
 310 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 puff that way. Let's see what it is I don't 
 understand. You found this money 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 that crack?" 
 
 "Well well, I don't know as I saw it exactly, but 
 but No, I didn't see it. I I felt it." 
 
 "Oh, you felt it! Thought you said you saw it. Well, 
 you reached down and felt it, then. How did you get your 
 arm stretched out five foot long and three-quarters of an 
 inch thick ? Put it under the steam roller, did you ?" 
 
 Jed swallowed twice before replying. "I I " he be- 
 gan. "Well well, come to think of it, Sam, I I guess I 
 didn't feel it with my fingers. I I took a stick. Yes, that 
 was it. I poked in behind there with a stick." 
 
 "Oh, you felt it with a stick. And knew 'twas money ? 
 Tut, tuti You must have a good sense of touch, Jed, to 
 know bills when you scratch across 'em with the far end of 
 a five foot stick. Pick 'em up 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 ob- 
 served. "While those bills were in the d?rk at the bottom 
 of that crack they must have sprouted. They went in there 
 nothin' but tens and twenties. These you just gave me are 
 fives and twos and all sorts. You'd better poke astern of 
 those boards again, Jed. The roots must be down there 
 yet ; all you've scratched up are the sprouts."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 311 
 
 His only answer was a hopeless groan. Captain Sam 
 rose and, walking over to where his friend sat with his 
 face buried between his hands, laid his own hand on the 
 latter's shoulder. 
 
 "There, there, Jed," he said, gently. "I beg your par- 
 don. I'm sorry I stirred you up this way. 'Twas mean 
 of me, I know, but when 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 poor fist at it. What is 
 it all about ? What was you tryin' to do it for ?" 
 
 Another groan. The captain tried again. 
 
 "What's the real yarn ?" he asked. "What are you actin' 
 this way for ? Course I know you never found the money. 
 Is there somebody " 
 
 "No! No, no!" Jed's voice rose almost to a shout. 
 He sprang to his feet and clutched at Captain Sam's coat- 
 sleeve. "No," he shouted. "Course there ain't anybody. 
 Wh-what makes you say such a thing as that? I I tell 
 you I did find the money. I did I did." 
 
 "Jed! Of course you didn't. I know you didn't. I 
 know. Gracious king, man, be sensible." 
 
 "I did ! I did ! I found it and now I give it back to 
 you. What more do you want, Sam Hunniwell? Ain't 
 that enough?" 
 
 "Enough! It's a darned sight too much. I tell you I 
 know you didn't find it." 
 
 "But I did." 
 
 "Rubbish! In the first place, you and I hunted every 
 inch behind those boards the very day the money was miss- 
 in', and 'twa'n't there then. 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 sprnt your money."
 
 312 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 of alarm and frantic haste. "I found your 
 money two or three days ago. Yes, sir, that's when I 
 found it. ... Er ... er ..." 
 
 "Humph! Why didn't you tell me you found it then? 
 If you'd found it what made you keep runnin' into the 
 bank to ask me if I'd found it? Why didn't you give it 
 back to me right off? Oh, don't be so ridiculous, 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 and then I got got kind of sorry and and scared 
 and I got some more money 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, did you, Jed?" he said, slowly. "Well, the average 
 person never'd have guessed 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; you said 
 you did. Whut 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 desper- 
 ate struggle, "I I I bought a suit of clothes." 
 
 The effort of this confession was a peculiar one. Cap- 
 tain Sam Hunniwell put back his head and roared with 
 laughter. He was still laughing when he picked up his 
 hat and turned to the door. Jed sprang from his seat.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 313 
 
 "Eh? . . . You're not goin', are you, Sam?" he cried. 
 The captain, wiping his eyes, turned momentarily. 
 
 "Yes, Jed," he said, chokingly, "I'm goin'. Say, if 
 if you get time some of these days dress up in that four 
 hundred dollar suit you bought and then send me word. 
 I'd like to see it." 
 
 He went out. The door of the outer shop slammed. 
 Jed wiped the perspiration from his forehead and groaned 
 helplessly and hopelessly. 
 
 The captain had reached the gate when he saw Phillips 
 coming along the road toward him. He waited until the 
 young man arrived. 
 
 "Hello, Captain," hailed Charles. "So you decided not 
 to come back to the bank this afternoon, after all?" 
 
 His employer nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've been kept 
 away on business. Funny kind of business, too. Say, 
 Charlie," he added, "suppose likely your sister and you 
 would be too busy to see me for a few minutes now? I'd 
 like to see if you've got an answer to a riddle." 
 
 "A riddle?" 
 
 "Um-hm. I've just had the riddle sprung on me and 
 it's got my head whirlin' like a bottle in a tide rip. Can 
 I come into your house for a minute and spring it on you ?" 
 
 The young man looked puzzled, which was not surpris- 
 ing, but his invitation to come into the house was most cor- 
 dial. They entered by the front door. As they came into 
 the little hall they heard a man's voice in the living-room 
 beyond. It was Major Grover's voice and they heard the 
 major say: 
 
 "It doesn't matter at all. Please understand I had no 
 thought of asking. I merely wanted you to feel that what 
 that fellow said had no weight with me whatever, and to 
 assure you that I will make it my business to see that he
 
 314 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 keeps his mouth shut. As for the other question, 
 Ruth " 
 
 Ruth Armstrong's voice broke in here. 
 
 "Oh, please," she begged, "not now. I I am so sorry 
 I can't tell you 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 for- 
 get it." 
 
 Charlie, with an anxious glance at Captain Hunniwell, 
 cleared his throat loudly. The captain's thoughts, however, 
 were too busy with his "riddle" to pay attention to the 
 voices in the living-room. As he and Phillips entered that 
 apartment Major Grover came into the hall. He seemed 
 a trifle embarrassed, but he nodded to Captain Sam, ex- 
 changed greetings with Phillips, and hurried out of the 
 house. They found Ruth standing by the rear window 
 and looking out toward the sea. 
 
 The captain plunged at once into his story. He began 
 by asking Mrs. Armstrong if her brother had told her of 
 the missing four hundred dollars. Charles was inclined to 
 be indignant. 
 
 "Of course I haven't," he declared. "You asked us all 
 to keep quiet about it and not to tell a soul, and I sup- 
 posed you meant just that." 
 
 "En? So I did, Charlie, so I did. Beg your pardon, 
 boy. I might have 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 into his overcoat pocket and 
 then go sasshayin' from Wapatomac to Orham ain't the 
 kind I'd recommend to ship as cow steward on a cattle 
 boat, to say nothin' of president of a bank. But confess- 
 in's good for the soul, they say, even if it does make a 
 feller feel like a fool, so here goes. I did just that thing."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 315 
 
 He went on to tell of his trip to Wapatomac, his inter- 
 view with Sage, his visit to the windmill shop, his discovery 
 that four hundred of the fourteen hundred had disap- 
 peared. Then he told of his attempts to trace it, of Jed's 
 anxious inquiries from day to day, and, finally, of the scene 
 he had just passed through. 
 
 "So there you are," he concluded. "I wish to mercy 
 you'd tell me what 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 what made him do it, I cal'late I'd have 
 laughed myself sick to see poor old Jed tryin' to lie. Why, 
 he ain't got the first notion of how to begin; I don't cal'late 
 he ever told a real, up-and-down lie afore in his life. That 
 was funny enough but when he began to tell me he was 
 a thief ! Gracious king ! And all he could think of in the 
 way of an excuse was that he stole the four hundred to 
 buy a suit of clothes with. Ho, ho, ho!" 
 
 He roared again. Charlie Phillips laughed also. But 
 his sister did not laugh. She had seated herself in the 
 rocker by the window when the captain began his tale and 
 now she had drawn back into the corner where the shad- 
 ows 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 de- 
 clared. "And the money 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 
 of clean tens and twenties ; this stuff I've got in my pocket 
 now is all sorts, ones and twos and fives and everything. 
 And in the second place " 
 
 "Pardon me, just a minute, Captain Hunniwell. Where 
 did he get the four hundred to give you, do you think ? Ha
 
 316 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 hasn't cashed any large checks at the bank within the last 
 day or two, and he would scarcely 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 his tools and chips and glue pots. 
 Probably he had some to start with, and he got the rest 
 by gettin' folks around town and over to Harniss to cash 
 his checks. Anthony Hammond over there asked me a 
 little while ago, when I met him down to the wharf, if I 
 thought ^Shavin's Winslow was good for a hundred and 
 twenty-five. Said Jed had sent over by the telephone man's 
 auto and asked him to cash a check for that much. Ham- 
 mond said he thought 'twas queer he hadn't cashed it at 
 ^ur 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 such a thing." 
 
 "Neither did anybody else. I've known Jed all my life 
 ^nd I never can tell what loony thing he's liable to do next. 
 But this beats all 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 so careless ?" 
 
 Captain Sam laughed once more. "No, no," he said. 
 "Gracious king, I hope my reputation's good enough to 
 stand the losin' of four hundred dollars. And Jed knows 
 perfectly well I could put it back myself, if 'twas neces- 
 sary, 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 imagine that he did find the money, your money, and
 
 'SHAVINGS" 317 
 
 then, for some reason or other, change it with smaller bills, 
 and " 
 
 "Sshh, sshh, Charlie, don't waste your breath. I told you 
 I knew he hadn't found the four hundred dollars I lost, 
 didn't I ? Well, I do know it and for the very best of rea- 
 sons; 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 up his house 
 again. And he telephoned me at two o'clock to say that 
 the four hundred dollar packet was layin' on his sittin'- 
 room table just where I left it when he and I parted com- 
 pany four days or so ago. That's how I know Jed didn't 
 find it." 
 
 From the shadowy corner where Ruth Armstrong sat 
 came a little gasp and an exclamation. Charles whistled. 
 
 "Well, by George!" he exclaimed. "That certainly puts 
 a crimp in Jed's confession." 
 
 "Sartin sure it does. When Sylvester and I parted we 
 was both pretty hot under the collar, havin' called each 
 other's politics about 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 of the house. Seems all 
 I grabbed was the two five hundred packages; the four 
 hundred one was shoved under some papers and magazines 
 and there it stayed till Sylvester got back from his Boston 
 cruise. 
 
 "But that don't answer my riddle," he added, impa- 
 tiently. "What made Jed act the way he did? Got the 
 answer, Charlie?" 
 
 The young man shook his head. "No, by George, I 
 haven't!" he replied. 
 
 "How about you, Mrs. Armstrong? Can you help us 
 out?" 
 
 Ruth's answer was brief. "No, I'm afraid not," she
 
 318 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 said. There was a queer note in her voice which caused 
 her brother to glance at her, 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 spy land anywheres ahead. I need a pilot. This 
 course is too crooked for me. I'm goin' home to ask 
 Maud; maybe she can see a light. So long." 
 
 He went out. When Charles returned, having accom- 
 panied his employer as far as the door, he found Ruth 
 standing by her chair and looking at him. A glance at her 
 face caused him to stop short and 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 talk- 
 ing about, Sis?" 
 
 "Jed. Jed Winslow. Don't you see, Charlie? He pre- 
 tended to have found the money and to have stolen it just 
 to save you. He thought you ha thought you had 
 taken it." 
 
 "What? Thought I had taken it? / had? Why in the 
 devil should he think " 
 
 He stopped. When he next spoke it was in a different 
 tone. 
 
 ''Sis," he asked, slowly, "do you mean that he thought 
 I took this money because he knew I had had done that 
 thing at Middleford? Does he know about that?" 
 
 The tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, Char- 
 lie," she said, "he knows. He found it out, partly by ac- 
 cident, before you came 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 eleven times and still the lights shone from 
 the sitting-room windows of the little Winslow 
 house and from those of Jed's living quarters behind his 
 windmill shop. At that time of year and at that time of 
 night there were few windows alight in Or ham, and Mr. 
 Gabe Bearse, had he been astir at such an hour, might have 
 wondered why the Armstrongs and "Shavings" were "set- 
 tin' up." Fortunately for every one except him, Gabe was 
 in bed and asleep, otherwise he might have peeped under 
 Jed's kitchen window shade he had been accused of doing 
 such things and had he done so he would have seen Jed 
 and Charlie Phillips in deep and earnest conversation. 
 Neither would have wished to be seen just then ; their ir-ter- 
 view was far too intimate and serious for that. 
 
 They had been talking since eight. Charles and his 
 sister had had a long conversation following Captain Hun- 
 niwell's visit and then, after a pretense at supper a pre- 
 tense made largely on Babbie's account the young man 
 had come straight to the shop and to Jed. He had found 
 the latter in a state of extreme dejection. He was sitting 
 before the little writing table in his living-room, his elbows 
 on the desk and his head in his hands. The drawer of the 
 table was open and Jed was, apparently, gazing intently at 
 something within. When Phillips entered the room he 
 started, hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale 
 and distressed face to his visitor. 
 
 "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it's you, Charlie, ain't it? 
 I I er good mornm'. It's it's a nice day."
 
 320 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 after supper 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, seems so." 
 
 "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 a success. ... I forgot to put the tea in it. ... 
 But it don't make 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. 
 He raised 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, without looking at his visitor, rose slowly to his feet. 
 
 "So Sam told you," he said, with a sigh. "I I didn't 
 hardly think he'd do that. . . . Course 'twas all right for 
 him to tell," he added 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 of thought . . . Well, it don't
 
 'SHAVINGS" 321 
 
 make any difference, I guess. Did he tell your your sis- 
 ter? Did he tell her how I how I stole the money?" 
 
 Charles shook his head. 
 
 "No," he said quietly. "No, he didn't tell either of us 
 that. He told 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 you didn't take it." 
 
 "Eh? Now . . . now, Charlie, that ain't so." Jed was 
 even more disturbed and distressed than before. "I I 
 told Sam I took it and 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 time you were telling him you did. In fact he 
 came into your shop this afternoon to tell you that the 
 Sage man over at Wapatomac had found the four hundred 
 dollars on the table in his sitting-room just where the cap- 
 tain left it. Sage had just 'phoned him that very thing. 
 He would have told you that, but you didn't give him the 
 chance. Jed, I " 
 
 But Jed interrupted. His expression as he listened had 
 been changing 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 Hunni- 
 well never lost that money at all ? That all he did was leave 
 it over at Wapatornac?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just what I mean." 
 
 "Then then all the time when I was was givin' him 
 the the other money 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 hand slowly across his chin. 
 
 "He knew !" he repeated. "He knew ! . . ." Then, with
 
 322 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 a sudden gasp as 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 taken it. 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 
 j > 
 
 "It's all right, Jed. I don't blame you for thinking I 
 might have taken 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 be ashamed 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 told me the whole thing. About how Babbie 
 let the cat out of the bag and how she told you for fear 
 you might suspect something even worse than the truth; 
 although," he added, "that was quite bad enough. Yes, she 
 told me everything. You've been a brick all through, Jed. 
 And now ' 
 
 "Wait, Charlie, wait. I I don't know what to say to 
 you. I don't know 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 you needed money so bad and 
 would do most anything to get five hundred dollars if 
 you hadn't said that, I don't think the notion would ever 
 have crossed my mind." 
 
 Phillips whistled. "Well, by George !" he exclaimed. "1 
 had forgotten that. No wonder you thought I had gone 
 crooked again. Humph! . . . Well, I'll tell you why I
 
 'SHAVINGS" 323 
 
 wanted that money. You see, I've been trying to pay back 
 to the man in Middleford the money of his which which I 
 took before. It is two thousand dollars and," with a shrug, 
 "that looks a good deal bigger sum to me now than it used 
 to, you can bet on that. I had a few hundred in 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 be- 
 cause well, I wish I could say it was because I was in- 
 tending to use it to pay back what I had taken, but that 
 wasn't the real reason why I kept 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 chap who had me put in 
 prison. I'm not shirking blame ; I was a fool and a 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'ble of a professer," he observed. 
 
 "Professor? Why no, he was a bond broker." 
 
 "I mean that he professed religion a good deal. Called 
 himself a Christian and such kind of names." 
 
 Phillips smiled bitterly. "If he is a Christian I prefer 
 to be a heathen," he observed. 
 
 "Um-hm. Well, maybe he ain't one. You could teach a 
 parrot to holler 'Praise the Lord/ I cal'late, and the more 
 crackers he got by it the louder he'd holler. So you never 
 said anything about the four hundred you had put by, 
 Charlie." 
 
 "No. I felt that I had been treated badly and why, 
 Jed, the man used to urge me to dress better than I could 
 afford, to belong to the most expensive club and all that 
 sort of thing. He knew I was in with a set sporting ten 
 times the money I could muster, and spending it, too, but 
 he seemed to like to have me associate with them. Said 
 it was good for the business." 
 
 "Sartin ! More crackers for Polly. Go on."
 
 324 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "I intended that he should never have that money, but 
 after I came here, after I had been here for a time, I 
 changed my mind. I saw things in a different light. I 
 wrote him a letter, told him I meant to pay back every cent 
 of the two thousand I had taken and enclosed my check 
 for the seven hundred and fifty I had put by. Since then I 
 have paid him two hundred and fifty more, goodness knows 
 how. I have squeezed every penny from my salary that I 
 could spare. I have paid him half of the two thousand 
 and, if everything had gone on well, some day or other I 
 would have paid the other half." 
 
 Jed laid a hand on his companion's knee. "Good boy, 
 Charlie," he said. "And how did the er professin' poll 
 parrot act about your payin' 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 did not feel I was paying as rapidly as I could and 
 that, if he did not receive another five hundred shortly he 
 should feel it his duty to communicate with my present em- 
 ployers. Do you wonder I said I would 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 if he communicated with my employers that would 
 end any chances of his ever getting more. He hasn't writ- 
 ten since ; afraid of stopping the golden egg supply, I pre- 
 sume. . . . But there," he added, "that's enough of that. 
 Jed, how could you do it just for me? Of course I had 
 come to realize that your heart was as big as a bushel basket, 
 and that you and I were friends. But when a fellow gives 
 up four hundred dollars of his own money, and, not only 
 does that, but deliberately confesses himself a thief when
 
 "SHAVINGS" 325 
 
 he does that to save some one else who, as he knew, had 
 really been a thief and who he was pretty sure must have 
 stolen again why, Jed, it is unbelievable. 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 
 all foolishness, anyhow." 
 
 "Foolishness ! It's oh, I don't know what it is ! And 
 to sacrifice your reputation and your character and your 
 friendship with Captain Hunniwell, all for me! I can't 
 understand it." 
 
 "Now now now, Charlie, don't try to. If I can't un- 
 derstand myself more'n half the time, what's the use of 
 your strainin' your brains? I I just took a notion, that's 
 all. I " 
 
 "But, Jed, why did you do it for me? I have heard 
 of men doing such things for for women, sacrificing 
 themselves to save a woman they were in love with. You 
 read of that in books and yes, I think I can understand 
 that. But for you to do it for me!" 
 
 Jed waved both hands this time. "Sshh ! sshh !" he cried, 
 in frantic protest. His face was a brilliant crimson and his 
 embarrassment and confusion were so acute as to be laugh- 
 able, although Phillips was far from laughing. "Sshh, 
 sshh, Charlie," pleaded Jed. "You you don't know what 
 you're talkin' about. You're makin' an awful fuss about 
 nothin'. Sshh! Yes, you are, too. I didn't have any 
 notion of tellin' Sam I stole that four hundred when I 
 first gave it to him. I was goin' to tell him I found it, 
 that's all. That would keep him bottled up, I figgered, and 
 satisfied and then then you 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? I do hope," he 
 added anxiously, "you won't hold it against me, for thinkin'
 
 326 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 maybe you had taken it. Course I'd ought to have known 
 better. I would have known better if I'd been anybody but 
 Shavin's Winslow. 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 a hot fire. The more I sizzled and 
 sputtered and tried to get out of that spider, the more he 
 poked up the fire. I declare, I never knew lyin' was such 
 a job ! When I see how easy and natural it comes to some 
 folks I feel kind of ashamed to think what a poor show I 
 made at it. Well, Sam kept pokin' the fire and heatin' me 
 up till I got desperate and swore I stole the money instead 
 of findin' it. And that was hoppin' out of the fryin' pan 
 into the fire," he drawled reflectively. 
 
 Charles smiled. "Captain Sam said you told him you 
 took the money to 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 laces or collar buttons or some- 
 thin'. . . . Sho! . . . Dear, dear! Well, they sa> George 
 Washin'ton couldn't tell a lie and I've proved I can't either ; 
 only I've tried to tell one and I don't recollect that he ever 
 did that. . . . Humph! ... A suit of clothes. . . . Four 
 hundred dollars. . . . Solomon, in all his glory would have 
 looked like a calico shirt and a pair of overalls alongside 
 of me, eh ? ... Humph !" 
 
 Phillips shook his head. "Nevertheless, Jed," he de- 
 clared, "I can'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 !
 
 "SHAVINGS" 327 
 
 don't want anybody to talk 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 talk of it any more just now, if that pleases you bet- 
 ter. I have some other things to talk about and I must talk 
 about them with some one. I must I've got to." 
 
 Jed looked at him. The words reminded him forcibly of 
 Ruth's on that day when she had come to the windmill shop 
 to tell him her brother'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 mat- 
 ter. You see, Ruth thinks the world of me, she always did, 
 a great deal more than I deserve, ever have deserved or 
 ever will. And in this matter she thinks first of all of me 
 what will become of me provided well, provided things 
 don't go as I should like to have them. That isn't the way 
 I want to face the question. I want to know what is best 
 for every one, for her, for me and and for some one 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 de- 
 manded. "What in blazes are you a clairvoyant?" 
 
 "No-o. No. But it don't need a spirit medium to see 
 through a window pane, Charlie; that is, the average win- 
 dow 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 that will be the 
 right thing, or the nighest to the right thing, for your sister 
 and Babbie and yourself and Maud." 
 
 "Yes, I do. It isn't any new question for me. I've been
 
 328 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 putting it up to myself for a long time, for months; by 
 George, it seems years." 
 
 "I know. I know. Well, Charlie, I've been puttin' it up 
 to myself, 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 an answer. 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 
 the situation over just a little mite. You've been talkin' 
 with your sister, you say, and she don't entirely agree with 
 you." 
 
 "No. 7 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 the talk about poetry and all that? When 
 you quoted that poem about a chap's fearing his fate too 
 much? Well, I've been fearing my fate ever since I 
 began to realize what a mess I was getting into here in 
 Orham. When I first came I saw, of course, that I was 
 skating on thin ice, and it was likely to break under me at 
 any time. I knew perfectly well that some day the Middle- 
 ford business was bound to come out and that my accepting 
 the bank offer without telling Captain Hunniwell or any 
 one was a mighty risky, not to say mean, business. But 
 Ruth was so very anxious that I should accept and kept 
 begging me not to tell, at least until they had had a chance 
 to learn that I was worth something, that I gave in 
 and ... I say, Jed," he put in, breaking his own sentence
 
 'SHAVINGS" 329 
 
 in the middle, "don't think I'm trying to shove the blame 
 over on to Sis. It's not that." 
 
 Jed nodded. "Sho, sho, Charlie," he said, "course 'tain't. 
 I understand." 
 
 "No, I'll take the blame. I was old enough to have a 
 mind of my own. Well, as I was saying, I realized it all, 
 but I didn't care so much. If the smash did come, I fig- 
 ured, it might not come until I had established myself at 
 the bank, until they might have found me valuable enough 
 to keep on in spite of it. And I worked mighty hard to 
 make them like me. Then then well, then Maud and I 
 became friends and and oh, confound it, you see what 
 I mean! You must see." 
 
 The Winslow knee was clasped between the Winslow 
 hands and the Winslow 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 threatening to 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 his telling. Do you think 
 that's true?" 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised. Major Grover sartinly did 
 seem to put the fear of the Lord into Phin this afternoon. 
 . . . And that's no one-horse miracle," he drawled, "when 
 you consider that all the ministers in Orham haven't been 
 able to do it for forty odd years. . . . Um. . . . Yes, I 
 kind of cal'late Phin'll keep his hatches shut. He may bust 
 his b'iler and blow up with spite, but he won't talk about 
 you, Charlie, I honestly believe. And we can all thank the 
 major for that." 
 
 "I shall thank him, for one !" 
 
 "Mercy on us! No, no. He doesn't know your story
 
 330 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 at all. He just thinks Babbitt was circulatin' lies about 
 Ruth about your sister. You mustn't mention the Mid- 
 dleford 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 Babbitt will, as you say, keep his mouth shut, admitting 
 that the situation is just what it was before Captain Hunni- 
 well lost the money or Babbitt came into the affair at all, 
 still I've made up my mind that things can't go on as they 
 are. Jed, I it's a mighty hard thing to say to another 
 man, but the world my world just begins and ends 
 with with her." 
 
 His fists clenched and his jaw set as he said it. Jed 
 bowed his head. 
 
 "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 Sis and Babbie. But they're different." 
 
 "I understand, Charlie." 
 
 "No, you don't. How can you? Nobody can under- 
 stand, least of all a set old crank like you, Jed, and a con- 
 firmed bachelor besides. Beg pardon for contradicting 
 you, but you don't understand, you can'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 a crisis." 
 
 "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, with- 
 out telling her everything?" 
 
 "That's right, that's right. Course you couldn't, and be
 
 'SHAVINGS" 331 
 
 fair and honorable. . . . Hum. . . . Then you don't know 
 whether or not she er feels the same way about about 
 you?" 
 
 Charles hesitated. "No-o," he hesitated. "No, I don't 
 know, of course. But I I feel I ' 
 
 "You feel that that part of the situation ain't what you'd 
 call hopeless, eh? ... Um. . . . Well, judgin' from what 
 I've heard, I shouldn't call it that, either. Would it sur- 
 prise you to know, Charlie, that her dad and I had a little 
 talk on this very subject not so very long ago?" 
 
 Evidently it did surprise him. Charles gasped and turned 
 red. 
 
 "Captain Hunniwell !" he exclaimed. "Did Captain Hun- 
 niwell talk with you about about Maud and and me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, by George! Then he suspected he guessed 
 that That's strange." 
 
 Jed relinquished the grip of one hand upon his knee 
 long enough to stroke his chin. 
 
 "Um . . . yes," he drawled drily. "It's worse than 
 strange, it's er paralyzin'. More clairvoyants in Orham 
 than you thought there was; eh, Charlie?" 
 
 "But why should he talk with you on that subject; about 
 anything so er personal and confidential as that? With 
 you, you know!" 
 
 Jed's slow smile drifted into sight and vanished again. 
 He permitted 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 to you about things I never would think of men-
 
 332 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 tioning 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 you ever since we came 
 to Orham." 
 
 "Ye-es. And Sam's known me ever since 7 came. Any- 
 how he talked with me about you and Maud. I don't 
 think I shall be sayin' more'n I 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 might not like me so well. And as 
 for my marrying his daughter good night!" 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 a minute ago." 
 
 "I mean just that. The time has come when I must speak 
 to Maud. I must find out if find out how she feels aboul 
 me. And I can't speak to her, honorably, without telling 
 her everything. And suppose she should care enough for 
 me to to suppose she should care in spite of everything, 
 there's her father. She is his only daughter; he wor- 
 ships the ground she steps on. Suppose I tell him I've 
 been," bitterly, "a crook and a jailbird; what will he think 
 of me as a son-in-law? And now suppose he was fool 
 enough to consent which isn't supposable how could I 
 stay here, working for him, sponging a living from him, 
 with this thing hanging over us all? 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 ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "What does your sister want you to do?" he asked.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 333 
 
 "Ruth? Oh, as I told you, she thinks of no one but me. 
 How dreadful it would be for me to tell of my Middle- 
 ford record ! How awful if I lost my position in the bank ! 
 Suppose they discharged me and the town learned why! 
 I've tried to make her see that, compared to the question of 
 Maud, nothing else matters at all, but I'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 no- 
 where. So at last I 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 it now. It was too much for 
 any man to do for another. And she said to talk the whole 
 puzzle out with you. She seems to have all the confidence 
 on earth in your judgment, Jed. She is as willing to leave 
 a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leave 
 one 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 her confidence ain't founded on a rock, like the 
 feller's house in the Bible," he drawled. "My decisions are 
 liable to stick half way betwixt and between, same as er 
 Jeremiah's do. But," he added, gravely, "I have been 
 thinkin' pretty seriously about you and your particular 
 puzzle, Charlie, and and I ain't sure that I don't see one 
 way out of the fog. It may be a hard way, and it may 
 turn out wrong, and it may not be anything you'll agree to. 
 But " 
 
 "What is it? If it's anything even half way satisfac- 
 tory I'll believe you're the wisest man on earth, Jed Win- 
 slow." 
 
 "Well, if I thought you was liable to believe that I'd 
 tell you to send your believer to the blacksmith's 'cause
 
 334 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 there was somethin' wrong with it. No, I ain't wise, far 
 from it. But, Charlie, I think you're dead right about 
 what you say concernin' Maud and her father and you. 
 You can't tell her without tellin' him. For your own sake 
 you mustn't tell him without tellin' her. And you shouldn't, 
 as a straight up and down, honorable man keep on workin' 
 for Sam when you ask him, under these circumstances, to 
 give you his daughter. You can't afford to have her say 
 'yes' because she pities 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 you know, too, what 
 I've been and how I've behaved since I've been with you.' 
 You want to say to Maud: 'Do you care enough for me 
 to marry me 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 some day 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's the situation what then? For I tell you now, 
 Jed Winslow, I won't give her up until she tells me to." 
 
 "Course not, Charlie, course not. But there's one thing 
 more or two things, rather. There's your sister and Bab- 
 bie. Suppose you do haul up stakes and quit workin' for 
 Sam at the bank; can they get along without your sup- 
 port ? Without the money you earn ?" 
 
 The young man nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," he replied, 
 "I see no reason why they can't. They did before I came, 
 you know. Ruth has a little money of her own, enough 
 to keep her and Barbara in the way they live here in Or- 
 ham. She couldn't support me as a loafer, of course, and 
 you can bet I should never let her try, but she. could get
 
 'SHAVINGS" 335 
 
 on quite well without me. . . . Besides, I am not so sure 
 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 hint at such a thing. What are you try- 
 ing to get at, Jed?" 
 
 "Get at?" 
 
 "Yes. Why did you ask that question about Ruth and 
 Barbara? You don't mean that you see a way out for me, 
 do you?" 
 
 "W-e-e-11, I ... er ... I don't cal'late I'd want to go 
 so far as 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 Maud a pretty good deal lately and . . . 
 er . . . hum . . ." 
 
 "For heaven's sake, hurry up! Don't go to sleep now, 
 man, of all times. Tell me, what do you mean ? What can 
 I do?" 
 
 Jed's foot dropped to the floor. He sat erect and re- 
 garded his companion 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 of your worries and troubles. It won't mean 
 that you mustn't make a clean breast of everything to Maud 
 and to Sam. That you must do and 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 make 
 either Maud or Sam say yes to the question you want to 
 ask 'em. That question they'll answer themselves, of 
 course. But, as I see it, if you do this thing you'll be free 
 and independent, a man doin' a man's job and ready to
 
 336 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 speak to Sam Hunniwell or anybody else 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 th* 
 next morning. The late bird misses the early 
 worm and, as Gabriel was still slumbering peace- 
 fully at six A. M., he missed seeing Ruth Armstrong and 
 her brother emerge from the door of the Winslow house at 
 that hour and walk to the gate together. Charles was 
 carrying a small traveling bag. Ruth's face was white and 
 her eyes were suspiciously damp, but she was evidently 
 trying hard to appear calm and cheerful. As they stood 
 talking by the gate, Jed Winslow emerged from the wind- 
 mill 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 back here to-morrow. Wish me luck." 
 
 "I'll be wishin' it for you, Charlie, all day and all night 
 with double time after hours and no allowance for meals," 
 replied Jed earnestly. "You think Sam'll get your note all 
 right?" 
 
 "Yes, I shall tuck it under the bank door as I go by. If 
 he should ask what the business was which cahed 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 that sticks his head through the sheet over to the 
 Ostable fair, the one the boys heave baseballs at. No, he 
 won't get anything out of me, Charlie. And the other 
 letter; that'll get to to her?" 
 
 337
 
 338 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 The young man nodded gravely. "I shall mail it at the 
 post-office now," 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 walking rapidly away along the sidewalk. Ruth, lean- 
 ing over the fence, watched him as long as he was in sight. 
 And Jed watched her anxiously. When she turned he 
 ventured to speak. 
 
 "Don't worry," he begged. "Don't. He's doin' the right 
 thing. I know he is." 
 
 She wiped her eyes. "Oh, perhaps he is," she said sadly. 
 "I hope he is." 
 
 "I know he is. I only wish I could do it, too. ... I 
 would," he drawled, solemnly, "only for nineteen or twenty 
 reasons, the first one of 'em bein' that they wouldn't let 
 me." 
 
 She made no comment on this observation. They 
 walked together back toward 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 that time. Well, I honestly believe he feels better 
 now that he's made up 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 wanted to do ever since he came here. He told me 
 so when he came in from his long interview with you last 
 night. He and I talked until it was almost day and we told 
 each other many things." 
 
 She paused. Jed, looking up, caught her eye. To his 
 surprise she colored and seemed slightly confused. 
 
 "He had not said anything before," she went on rather
 
 "SHAVINGS" 339 
 
 hurriedly, "because he thought I would feel so terribly to 
 have him do it. So I should, and so I do, of course in 
 one way, but in another I am glad. 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 to him, 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 me that afternoon when 
 he came back from Wapatomac. If Maud cares for him 
 as much as all that she ain't goin' to throw him over on 
 account 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 ft's better for 
 him to know it, and know it now. . . . Dear, dear!" he 
 added, "how I do fire off opinions, don't I ? A body'd think 
 I was loaded up with wisdom same as one of those ma- 
 chine guns is with cartridges. About all I'm loaded with 
 is blanks, I cal'late." 
 
 She was not paying attention to this outburst, but, stand- 
 ing with one hand upon the latch of the kitchen door, she 
 seemed to be thinking deeply. 
 
 "I think you are right," she said slowly. "Yes, I think 
 you are right. It is better to know. . . . Jed, suppose 
 suppose you cared for some one, would the fact that her 
 brother had been in prison make any difference in in your 
 feeling?" 
 
 Jed actually staggered. She was not looking at him, nor 
 did she look at him now. 
 
 "Eh?" he cried. "Why why, Ruth, what what ?" 
 
 She smiled faintly. "And that was a foolish question, 
 too," she said. "Foolish to ask you, of all men. . . . Well, 
 I must go on and get Babbie's breakfast. Poor child, she 
 is going to miss her Uncle Charlie. We shall all miss him.
 
 340 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 . . . But there, I promised him I would be brave. Good 
 morning, Jed." 
 
 "But but, Ruth, what what ?" 
 
 She had not heard him. The door closed. Jed stood 
 staring at it for some minutes. Then he crossed the lawn 
 to his own little kitchen. The performances he went 
 through during the next hour would have confirmed the 
 opinion of Mr. Bearse and his coterie that "Shavings" 
 Winslow was "next door to loony." He cooked a breakfast, 
 but how he cooked it or of what it consisted he could not 
 have told. The next day he found the stove-lid lifter on 
 a plate in the ice chest. Whatever became of the left-over 
 pork chop which should have been there he had no idea. 
 
 Babbie came dancing in at noon on her way home from 
 school. She found her Uncle Jed in a curious mood, a 
 mood which seemed to be a compound of absent-minded- 
 ness and silence broken by sudden fits of song and hilarity. 
 He was sitting by the bench when she entered and was 
 holding an oily rag in one hand and a piece of emery paper 
 in the other. He was looking neither at paper nor rag, nor 
 at anything else in particular so far as she could see, and 
 he did not notice her presence at all. Suddenly he began 
 to rub the paper and the 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 Hallel ujah! 
 He's my di-dum-du-dum-di-dum 
 Di ' a 
 
 Barbara burst out laughing. Mr. Winslow's hallelujah 
 chorus stopped 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
 
 "SHAVINGS" 341 
 
 quiet? Haven't borrowed the cat's feet to walk on, have 
 you?" 
 
 Babbie laughed again and replied that she guessed the 
 cat wouldn't lend 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 and unreasonable 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. By Kipling, 'twas." 
 
 "Oh, I know! It wasn't a Sure Enough story; it was 
 a 'Just So' story. And the name of it w^_ 'The Cat Who 
 Walked by His Wild Lone.' " 
 
 Jed looked deeply disappointed. "Sho!" he sighed. "I 
 thought 'twas on his wild lone he walked. I was thinkin' 
 that maybe he'd gone walkin' on that for a spell and had 
 lent you his feet. . . . Hum. . . . Dear, dear! 
 
 "'Oh, irust 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 wait- 
 ing for a moment, Babbie ventured to arouse him. 
 
 "Uncle Jed," she asked, "what were you doing with 
 those things in your hand when I came in, you know? 
 That cloth and that piece of paper. You looked so funny, 
 tubbing them together, that I couldn't help laughing." 
 
 Jed regarded her solemnly. "It's emery paper," he 
 said; "like fine sandpaper, you know. And the cloth's got 
 lie in it. I'm cleanin' the rust off this screwdriver. I
 
 342 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 hadn't used it for more'n a fortni'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 I don't see any. You were just rubbing the sand- 
 paper and the cloth together 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 you mention it, there don't seem to be any screw- 
 driver, does there ? . . . Here 'tis on the bench. . . . And I 
 was rubbin' the sandpaper with ile, or ilin' the sandpaper 
 with the rag, whichever you like. . . . Hum, ye-es, I 
 should think it might have looked funny. . . . Babbie, if 
 you see me i~;j.lkin' around without any head some mornin' 
 don't be scared. You'll know that that part of 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 you know ?" 
 
 "Oh, 'cause I did. Petunia and I know you ever and 
 ever so well now and we're used to to the way you do. 
 Mamma says things like forgetting the screwdriver are 
 your ex-eccen-tricks. Is this what you've been thinking 
 about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?" 
 
 Jed slowly shook his head. "I I don't know," he 
 groaned. "I dasn't believe - There, there ! That's enough 
 of my tricks. How's Petunia's hair curlin' this mornin'?" 
 
 After the child left him he tried to prepare his dinner, 
 but it was as unsatisfactory a meal as breakfast had been. 
 He couldn't eat, he couldn't work. He could only think, 
 and thinking meant alternate periods of delirious hope and
 
 'SHAVINGS" 343 
 
 black depression. He sat down before the little table in his 
 living-room and, opening the drawer, saw Ruth Arm- 
 strong's pictured face looking up at him. 
 
 "Jed! Oh, Jed!" 
 
 It was Maud Hunniwell's voice. She had entered the 
 shop and the living-room without his hearing her and now 
 she was standing behind him with her hand upon his 
 shoulder. He started, turned and looked up into her face. 
 And one glance caused him to forget himself and even the 
 pictured face in the drawer for the time and to think only 
 of her. 
 
 "Maud!" he exclaimed. "Maud!" 
 
 Her hair, usually so carefully arranged, was disordered ; 
 her hat was not adjusted at its usual exact angle; and as 
 for the silver fox, it hung limply backside front. Her eyes 
 were red and she held a 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 came to him now, and putting her head upon his 
 shoulder, burst into a storm of weeping. Jed stroked her 
 hair. 
 
 "There, there, Maud," he said gently. "Don't, girlie, 
 don't. It's goin' to be all right, I know it. ... And so you 
 came to me, did you ? I'm awful glad you did, I am so." 
 
 "He asked me to come," she sobbed. "He wrote it in 
 in the letter." 
 
 Jed led her over to a chair. "Sit down, girlie," he said, 
 "and tell me all about it. You got the letter, then?" 
 
 She nodded. "Yes," she said, chokingly; "it it just 
 came. Oh, I am so glad Father did not come home to din-
 
 344 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ner to-day. He would have have seen me and and* 
 oh, why did he do it, Jed ? Why ?" 
 
 Jed shook his head. "He had to do it, Maud," he an- 
 swered. "He wanted to do the right thing and the honor- 
 able thing. And you would 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? Why didn't he come to me first? Oh. 
 . . . Oh, Jed, how could he treat me so?" 
 
 She was sobbing again. Jed took her hand and patted 
 it with his own 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 for up'ards of three solid hours last night and I 
 cal'late I understood him pretty well when he finished. 
 Now let me tell you what he said to me." 
 
 He told her the substance of his long interview with 
 Phillips. He told also of Charles' coming to Orham, of 
 why and how he took the position in the bank, of his other 
 talks with him Winslow. 
 
 "And so," said Jed, in conclusion, "you see, Maud, what 
 a dreadful load the poor young feller's been carry in' ever 
 since he came and especially since he well, since he found 
 out how much he was carin' 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 your dad's. He was 
 workin' and pinchin' to pay the two thousand to the man 
 in Middleford. He had hangin' over him every minute 
 the practical certainty that some day some day sure a 
 person was comin' along who knew his story and then the 
 fat would all be in the fire. And when it went into that
 
 'SHAVINGS" 345 
 
 fire he wouldn't be the only one 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, why didn'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 in prison. And now 
 now he may be oh, Jed, he may be killed !" 
 
 She was sobbing again. Jed patted her hand. "We won't 
 talk about his bein' killed," he said stoutly. "I know he 
 won't be ; I feel it in my bones. But, Maud, can't you see 
 why he didn't come and tell you before he went to enlist? 
 Suppose he had. If you care for him so 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 his havin' 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 right along 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, all the whole dreadful thing, why not a lit- 
 tle longer? Besides besides, Father knows how much 
 Charlie means to me. Father and I had a long talk about 
 him one night and I I think he knows. And he 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 al- 
 ways does what I ask." 
 
 "Yes, ye-es, I cal'late that's so. But, to be real honest
 
 346 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 now, Maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that 
 way? Would you have felt that it was the honorable 
 thing for Charlie to do? Isn't what he has done better? 
 He's undertaken' the biggest and finest job a man can do 
 in this world to-day, as I see it. It's the job he'd have 
 taken on months ago if he'd felt 'twas right to leave Ruth 
 Mrs. Armstrong so soon after after bein' separated 
 from her so long. He's taken on this big job, this man's 
 job, and he says to 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, to Sam, he says: 'I ain't 
 workin' for you now. I ain't on your payroll and so I can 
 speak out free and independent. If your daughter'll have 
 me I mean to marry her some day.' Ain't that the better 
 way, Maud? Ain't that how you'd rather have him feel 
 and do?" 
 
 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 says just 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' 
 this was his own idea. It was me that suggested his en- 
 listin', although I 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 he says, 'No. I'll tell her in 
 a letter and then when I come back she'll have had time to 
 think it over. She won't say 'yes' then simply because she 
 pities me or because she doesn't realize what it means. 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 deliber- 
 ate.' " 
 
 She nodded. "He says that there," she said chokingly
 
 'SHAVINGS" 347 
 
 "But he he must have known. Oh, Jed, ho\r can I let 
 him go to war?" 
 
 That portion of the letter which Jed was permitted to 
 read was straightforward and honest and manly. There 
 were no appeals for pity or sympathy. The writer stated 
 his case and left the rest to her, that was all. And Jed, 
 reading between the lines, respected Charles Phillips more 
 than ever. 
 
 He and Maud talked for a long time after that. And, 
 at last, they reached a point which Jed had tried his best 
 to avoid. Maud mentioned it first. She had been speaking 
 of his friendship for her lover and for herself. 
 
 "I don't see what we should have done without your 
 help, Jed," she said. "And when I think what you have 
 done for Charlie! Why, yes and now I know why you 
 pretended to have found the four hundred dollars Father 
 thought he had lost. Pa left it at Wapatomac, after all; 
 you knew that?" 
 
 Jed stirred uneasily. He was standing by the window, 
 tooking out into 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 neces- 
 sary, does it?" 
 
 "But I shall talk about it. When Father came home that 
 night he couldn't talk of anything else. He called it the 
 prize puzzle of the century. You had given him four hun- 
 dred dollars of your own money and pretended it was his 
 and that you had had stolen it, Jed. He burst out laugh- 
 ing when he told me that and so did I. The idea 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
 
 348 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 think I'm a prize idiot and sometimes I feel it's my duty 
 to live up or down to my reputation. This was one of 
 the times, that's all. I'm awful glad Sam got his own 
 money back, though." 
 
 "The money didn't amount to anything. But what you 
 did was the wonderful thing. For now I understand why 
 you did it. You thought you thought Charlie had taken 
 it to to pay that horrid man in Middleford. That is what 
 you thought and you ' 
 
 Jed broke in. "Don't! Don't put me in mind of it, 
 Maud," he begged. "I'm so ashamed I don't know what 
 to do. You see you see, 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 not only gave up your own money, but you were 
 willing to sacrifice your good 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 was gazing steadily out into the yard. 
 
 "How could you, Jed?" repeated Maud. "It was won- 
 derful! I can't understand. I " 
 
 She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. She was 
 standing beside the little t writing-table and the drawer 
 was open. She looked down and there, in that drawer, she 
 saw the framed photograph of Ruth Armstrong. She re- 
 membered that Jed had been sitting at that desk and gaz- 
 ing down into that drawer when she entered the room. She 
 looked at him now. He was standing by the window peer- 
 ing out into the yard. Ruth had come from the back 
 door of the little Winslow house and was standing on the 
 step looking up the road, evidently waiting for Barbara to
 
 'SHAVINGS" 349 
 
 come from school. And Jed was watching her. Maud 
 saw the look upon his face and she understood. 
 
 A few moments later she and Ruth met. Maud had 
 tried to avoid that meeting by leaving Jed's premises by 
 the front door, the door of the outer shop. But Ruth had 
 walked to the gate to see if Babbie was coming and, as 
 Maud emerged from the shop, the two women came face 
 to face. For an instant they did not speak. Maud, ex- 
 cited and overwrought by her experience with the letter 
 and her interview with Jed, was still struggling for self- 
 control, and Ruth, knowing that the other must by this 
 time have received that letter and learned 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 hesita- 
 tion, turned back. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Armstrong," she faltered, "may I speak with 
 you just just for a few minutes?" 
 
 And now Ruth hesitated. Wh... was it the girl wished 
 to speak about? If it was to reproach her or her brother, 
 or to demand further explanations or apologies, the inter- 
 view had far better not take place. She was in no mood 
 to listen to reproaches. Charles was, in her eyes, a martyr 
 and a hero and now, largely because of this girl, he was 
 going away to certain danger, perhaps to death. She had 
 tried, for his sake, not to blame Maud Hunniwell because 
 Charles had fallen in love with her, but she was not, just 
 then, inclined toward extreme forbearance. So she hesi- 
 tated, and Maud spoke again. 
 
 "May I speak with jcm for just a few minutes?" she 
 pleaded. "I have just got his letter and oh, may I?" 
 
 Ruth silently led the way to the door of the little house. 
 
 "Come in," she said.
 
 350 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Together they entered the sitting-room. Ruth asked hei 
 caller to be seated, but Maud paid no attention. 
 
 "I have just got his letter," she faltered. "I I 
 wanted you to know to know that it doesn't make any 
 difference. I I don't ca, e. If he loves me, and and he 
 says he does I don't care for anything 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, and the April showers followed it. She and Maud 
 wept in each other's arms and were femininely happy ac- 
 cordingly. And for at least a half hour thereafter they 
 discussed the surpassing excellencies of Charlie Phillips, the 
 certainty that Captain Hunniwell would forgive him be- 
 cause he could not help it and a variety of kindred and 
 satisfying subjects. And at last Jed Winslow drifted into 
 the conversation. 
 
 "And so you have b ?n talking it over with Jed," ob- 
 served Ruth. "Isn't it odd how we all go to him when we 
 are in trouble or need advice or anything? I always do 
 and Charlie did, and you say that you do, too." 
 
 Maud nodded. "He and I have been what Pa calls 
 'chummies' ever since I can remember," she said simply. 
 
 "I don't know why I feel that I can confide in him to 
 such an extent. Somehow I always have. And, do you 
 know, his advice is almost always good? If I had taken 
 it from the first we might, all of us, have avoided a deal 
 of trouble. I have cause to think of Jed Winslow as some- 
 thing sure and safe and trustworthy. Like a nice, 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 odd expression.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 351 
 
 "And when I think," continued Ruth, "of how he was 
 willing to sacrifice his character and his honor and even to 
 risk losing your father's friendship how he proclaimed 
 himself a thief to save Charlie! When I think of that I 
 scarcely know whether to laugh or cry. I want to do both, 
 of course. It was perfectly characteristic and perfectly 
 adorable and so absolutely absurd. I love him for it, and 
 as yet I haven't dared thank him for fear I shall 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 of 
 clothes, I feel like laughing. Oh, he is a dear, isn't he?" 
 
 Now, ordinarily, Maud would have found nothing in this 
 speech to arouse resentment. There was the very slight, 
 and in this case quite unintentional, note of patronage in it 
 that every one used v/hen referring to Jed Winslow. She 
 herself almost invarhbly used that note when speaking 
 of him or even to him. But now her emotions were so 
 deeply stirred and the memories of her recent interview 
 with Jed, of his understanding and his sympathy, were so 
 vivid. And, too, she had just had that glimpse into his 
 most secret soul. So her tone, as she replied to Ruth's 
 speech, was almost sharp. 
 
 "He didn't do it for Charlie," she declared. "That is, of 
 course he 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 it for Charlie? Didn't say that he was a thief 
 and give your father his own money, do you mean? Do 
 you mean he didn't do that for Charlie?" 
 
 "Yes. He did it for you." 
 
 "Forme? For me?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . Oh, can't you understand? It's absurd and
 
 352 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 foolish and silly and everything, but I know it's true. Jed 
 Winslow is in love with you, Mrs. Armstrong." 
 
 Ruth leaned back in her chair and stared at her as if she 
 thought her 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, al- 
 though if it had been any one but Jed I should have sus- 
 pected for some time. But to-day when I went in there 
 I saw him sitting before his desk looking down into an 
 open drawer there. He has your photograph in that 
 drawer. And, later on, when you came out into the yard, 
 I saw him watching you; I saw his face and that was 
 enough. . . . Oh, don't you see?" impatiently. "It ex- 
 plains everything. You couldn't understand, nor could I, 
 why he should sacrifice himself so for Charlie. But be- 
 cause Charlie was your brother that is another thing. 
 Think, just think! You and I would have guessed it be- 
 fore if he had been any one else except just Jed. Yes, 
 he is in love with you. . . . It's crazy and it's ridiculous 
 and and all that, of course it is. But," with a sudden 
 burst of temper, "if you 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 Ruth entered it. Jed, who had been sitting 
 by the desk, rose when she came in. 
 
 "Land sakes, Ruth," he exclaimed, "it's you, ain't it ? Let 
 me light a lamp. I was settin' here in the dark like a ... 
 like a hen gone to roost. . . . Eh? Why, it's 'most supper 
 time, ain't it ? Didn't realize 'twas so late. I'll have a light 
 for you in a jiffy." 
 
 He was on his way to the kitchen, but she stopped him,
 
 'SHAVINGS" 353 
 
 "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 the desk ; that's it. You see," she added, "I I 
 well, I have something to tell you, and and I can tell it 
 better in the dark, I think." 
 
 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 the light, myself. You know, I've always had a 
 feelin' that the dark was more becomin' to my style of 
 beauty. Take me about twelve o'clock in a foggy night, in 
 a cellar, with the lamp out, and I look pretty nigh hand- 
 some to a blind man. . . . Um-hm." 
 
 She made no comment on this confession. Jed, after 
 waiting an instant for her to speak, ventured a reminder. 
 
 "Don't mind my talkin' foolishness," he said, apologetic- 
 ally. "I'm feelin' a little more like myself than I have for 
 for a week or so, 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 
 w^y, Jed. When I think what a friend you have been to 
 me and mine I I can't bear to hear you say such things. 
 I have never thanked you for what you did to save my 
 brother when you thought he had gone wrong again. 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 a fool of myself a good many times in my life 
 more gettin' back to nature, you see but I hope I never 
 made myself out quite such a blitherin' numbskull as I did 
 that time. Don't talk about it, don't. I ain't exactly what 
 you'd call proud of it."
 
 354 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "But I am. And so is Charlie. But I won't talk of it 
 if you prefer I shouldn't. . . . Jed " she hesitated, fal- 
 tered, and then began again: "Jed," she said, "I told 
 you when I came in that I had something to tell you. I 
 have. I have told no one else, not even Charlie, because 
 he went away before I was quite sure. But now I am 
 going to tell you because ever since I came here you have 
 been my father confessor, so to speak. You realize that, 
 don't you?" 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," he observed, with great deliberation, "I don't 
 know's I'd go as far as to say that. Babbie and I've agreed 
 that I'm her back-step-uncle, but that's as nigh relation as 
 I've ever dast figure I was to the family." 
 
 "Don't joke about it. You know what I mean. Well, 
 Jed, this is what I am going to tell you. It is very per- 
 sonal and very confidential and you must promise not to 
 tell any one yet. Will you ?" 
 
 "Eh? Why, sartin, of course." 
 
 "Yes. I hope you may be glad to hear it. It would 
 make you glad to know that I was happy, wouldn't it?" 
 
 For the first time Jed did not answer in the instant. The 
 shadows were deep in the little living-room now, but Ruth 
 felt that he was leaning forward and looking at her. 
 
 "Yes," he said, after a moment. "Yes . . . but I don't 
 know as I know 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. He was still leaning forward and she knew his 
 gaze was fixed upon her face. 
 
 "Yes," he said very slowly. "I like him first-rate." 
 
 "I'm glad. Because well, because / have come to like 
 him so much. Jed, he he has asked me to be his wife."
 
 'SHAVINGS" 355 
 
 There was absolute stillness in the little room. Then, 
 after what seemed to her several long minutes, he spoke. 
 
 "Yes . . . yes, I see . . ." he said. "And you? You've 
 
 w 
 
 "At first I could not answer him. My brother's secret 
 was in the way and I could not tell him that. But last 
 night or this morning Charlie and I discussed all our 
 affairs and he gave me permission to tell Leonard. So 
 when he came to-day I told him. He said it made no dif- 
 ference. And and I am going to marry him, Jed." 
 
 Jed's chair creaked again, but that was the only sound. 
 Ruth waited until she felt that she could wait no longer. 
 Then she stretched 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 b r eath. 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't expected it, you see." 
 
 "I know. Even Charlie was surprised. But you're glad, 
 for my sake, 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 and the anxiety about him and his problem I should 
 be very happy happier than I believed I ever could be 
 again. You're glad of that, aren't you, Jed?" 
 
 "Eh? . . . Yes, yes, of course. . . ." 
 
 "And you will congratulate me? You like Major Grover? 
 Please say yon do." 
 
 Jed rose slowly from his chair. He passed a hand in 
 dazed fashion across his forehead. 
 
 "Yes," he said, again. "The major's a fine man. ... I 
 do congratulate you, ma'am." 
 
 "Oh, Jed ! Not that way. As if you meant it"
 
 356 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "Eh? . . . I I do mean it. ... I hope I hope you'll 
 be real happy, 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 he sank slowly down into the chair again. Eight 
 o'clock struck and he was still sitting there. . . . And Fate 
 chose that time to send Captain Sam Hunniwell striding 
 up the walk and storming furiously at the back door. 
 
 "Jed!" roared the captain. "Jed Winslow! Jed!" 
 
 Jed lifted his head from his hands. He most decidedly 
 did not wish to 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. Hav- 
 ing ascertained that the owner of the building was withip, 
 he pulled the 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't wonder. By the gracious king, I 
 should think you would be ! What have 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 got to say to me ... eh ?" 
 
 Jed sighed. "Maybe I'd be better able to say it if I 
 knew what you was talkin' about, Sam," he observed, 
 drearily. 
 
 "Know! I guess likely you know all right. And ac
 
 "SHAVINGS" 357 
 
 cording to her you've known all along. What do you mean 
 by lettin' me take that that state's prison bird into my 
 bank? And lettin' him associate with my daughter and 
 and . . . Oh, by gracious king! When I think that you 
 knew what he was all along, I I " 
 
 His anger choked off the rest of the sentence. Jed 
 rubbed his eyes and sat up in his chair. For the first time 
 since the captain's entrance he realized a little of what the 
 latter said. Before that he 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'd found out months ago, that's all." 
 
 "Hum. . . . Charlie didn't tell you? . . . No-o, no, he 
 couldn't have 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 Win- 
 slow, not all the time I ain't. And when I came home to- 
 night and found Maud cryin' to herself and no reason for 
 it, so far as I could see, I set out to learn that reason. And 
 I did learn it. She told me the whole yarn, the whole of 
 it. And I saw the scamp's letter. And I dragged out of 
 her that you you had known all the time what he was, 
 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 tell you. And, as time went along and I began to 
 see what a fine boy Charlie really was, I felt sure 'twould 
 all come out right in the end. And it has, as I see it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes, it's come out all right. Charlie's gone to fight, 
 same as every decent young feller wants to do. He thinks
 
 358 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 the world of Maud and she does of him, but he was honor- 
 able enough not to ask her while he worked for you, Sam. 
 He wrote the letter after he'd gone so 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 to you 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 
 and I know it. AnH you know it, too, Sam Hunniwell. 
 Down inside you you know it, too. Why, you've told m< 
 a hundred times what a fine chap Charlie Phillips was and 
 how much you thought of him, and " 
 
 Captain Hunniwell interrupted. "Shut up!" he com- 
 manded. "Don't talk 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. Do you cal'late I'll let my 
 daughter marry a man that's been m state's prison?'" 
 
 "But, Sam, it wan't all his fault, really. And he'll go 
 straight from this on. I know he will." 
 
 "Shut up ! He can go to the devil from this on, but he 
 shan't take her with him. . . . Why, Jed, you know what 
 Maud is to me. She's all I've got. She's all I've contrived 
 for and worked for in this world. Think of all the plans 
 I've made for her!" 
 
 "I know, Sam, I know ; but pretty often our plans don't 
 work out just as we make 'em. Sometimes we have to 
 change 'em or give 'em up. And you want Maud to be 
 happy." 
 
 "Happy ! I want to be happy myself, don't I ? Do you 
 think I'm goin' to give up all my plans and all my happi- 
 ness just just because she wants to make a fool of her- 
 self? Give 'em up! It's easy for you to say 'give up.' 
 What do you know about it?" 
 
 It was the last straw. Jed sprang to his feet so sud- 
 denly that his chair fell to the floor.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 359 
 
 "Know about it!" he burst forth, with such fierce indig- 
 nation that the 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 life long? When I was a boy didn't I give 
 up the education that might have made me a a man in- 
 stead of of a town laughin' stock? While Mother lived 
 was I doin' much but give up myself for her ? I ain't sayin' 
 'twas any more'n right that I should, but I did it, didn't 
 I ? And ever since it's been the same way. I tell you, I've 
 come to believe that life for me means one 'give up' after 
 the other and won't mean anything but that till I die. And 
 you you ask me what I know about it ! You do !" 
 
 Captain Sam was so taken aback that he was almost 
 speechless. In all his long acquaintance with Jed Winslow 
 he had never seen him like this. 
 
 "Why why, Jed!" he stammered. But Jed was not 
 listening. He strode 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 happy together. You've been looked up 
 to and respected Here in Orham; folks never laughed at 
 you or called you 'town crank.' You've got a daughter and 
 she's a good girl. And the man she wants to marry is a 
 good man, and, if you'll give him a chance and he lives 
 through the war he's goin' into, he'll make you proud of 
 him. You go home, Sam Hunniwell ! Go home, and thank 
 God you're what you are and 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
 
 360 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 actually pushed him across the threshold and slammed the 
 door between them. 
 
 "Well, for . . . the Lord . . . sakes!" exclaimed Cap- 
 tain 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 a house of blocks. By the time it 
 is nearing completion it has become to him a very 
 real edifice. Therefore, when it collapses into an ungrace- 
 ful heap upon the floor it is poor consolation to be reminded 
 that, after all, it was merely a block house and couldn't be 
 expected to stand. 
 
 Jed, in his own child-like fashion, had reared his moon- 
 shine castle beam by beam. At first he had regarded it as 
 moonshine and had refused to consider the building of it 
 anything but a dangerously pleasant pastime. And then, 
 little by little, as his dreams changed to hopes, it had be- 
 come more and more real, until, just before the end, it was 
 the foundation upon which his future was to rest. And 
 down it came, and there was his future buried in the ruins. 
 
 And it had been all moonshine from the very first. Jed, 
 sitting there alone in his little living-room, could see now 
 that it had been nothing but that. Ruth Armstrong, young, 
 charming, cultured could she have thought of linking her 
 life with that of Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow, forty- 
 five, "town crank" and builder of windmills? Of course 
 not and again of course not. Obviously she never had 
 thought of such a thing. She had been grateful, that was 
 all; perhaps she had pitied him just a little and behind her 
 expressions of kindliness and friendship was pity and lit- 
 tle 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 cer-
 
 362 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 tain degree of bitterly philosophic acceptance of the situa> 
 tion. He was a fool; so much was sure. He was of no 
 use in the world, he never had been. People laughed at 
 him and he deserved to be laughed at. He rose from the 
 bed upon which he had thrown himself some time during 
 the early morning hours and, after eating a cold mouth- 
 ful or two in lieu of breakfast, sat down at his turning 
 lathe. He could make children's whirligigs, that was the 
 measure of his capacity. 
 
 All the forenoon the lathe hummed. Several times steps 
 sounded on the front walk and the latch of the shop door 
 rattled, but Jed did not rise from his seat. He had not 
 unlocked that door, he did not mean to for the present. He 
 did not want to wait on customers ; he did not want to see 
 callers; he did not want to talk or be talked to. 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 little after noon, refused to remain shut out. She 
 pounded the door and shouted "Uncle Jed" for some few 
 minutes ; then, just as Jed had begun to think she had given 
 up and gone away, he heard a thumping upon the window 
 pane and, looking up, saw her laughing and nodding out- 
 side. 
 
 "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 a jump, quite unconscious that her "back-step- 
 uncle" was in any way different, either in feelings or desire 
 for her society, than he had been for months. 
 
 "Why did you have the door locked, Uncle Jed ?" she de- 
 manded. "Did you forget to unlock it?" 
 
 Jed, without looking at her, muttered something to the 
 effect that he cal'lated he must have. 
 
 "Um-hm," she observed, with a nod of comprehension. 
 "I thought that was it. You did it once before, you know.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 363 
 
 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 
 together and 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 Bab- 
 bie. "Something about you 'twas, Uncle Jed." 
 
 Still Jed did not reply. His silence was not deliberate; 
 he had been so absorbed in his own pessimistic musings 
 that he had not heard the question, that was all. Barbara 
 tried again. 
 
 "She told me she guessed you had been thinking awf'ly 
 hard about something this time, else you wouldn't have so 
 many eccen-tricks to-day." 
 
 Silence yet. Babbie swallowed hard : 
 
 "I I don't think I like eccen-tricks, Uncle Jed," she fal- 
 tered. 
 
 Not a word. Then Jed, stooping to pick up a piece of 
 wood from the pile of cut stock beside the lathe, was con- 
 scious of a little sniff. He looked up. His small visitor's 
 lip was quivering and two big tears were just ready to 
 overflow her lower lashes. 
 
 "Eh? . . . Mercy sakes alive!" he exclaimed. "Why, 
 what's the matter?" 
 
 The lip quivered still more. "I I don't like to have 
 you not speak to me," sobbed Babbie. "You you never 
 did it so so long before."
 
 364 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 That appeal was sufficient. Away, for the time, went 
 Jed's pessimism and his hopeless musings. He forgot that 
 he was a fool, the "town crank," and of no use in the world. 
 He forgot his own heartbreak, chagrin and disappoint- 
 ment. A moment later Babbie was on his knee, hiding her 
 emotion in the front of his jacket, and he was trying his 
 best to soothe her with characteristic Winslow nonsense. 
 
 "You mustn't mind me, Babbie," he declared. "My 
 my head ain't workin' just right to-day, seems so. I 
 shouldn't wonder if if I wound 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 yester- 
 day and I thought I wound the clock, but I couldn't have 
 done that 'cause the clock's stopped. Yet I know I wound 
 somethin' and it's just as liable to have been my head as any- 
 thing else. You listen just back of my starboard ear there 
 and see if I'm tickin' reg'lar." 
 
 The balance of the conversation between the two was of 
 a distinctly personal nature. v 
 
 "You see, Uncle Jed," said Barbara, as she jumped from 
 his knee preparatory to running off to school, "I don't like 
 you to do eccen-tricks and not talk to me. I don't like it 
 at all and neither does Petunia. You won't do any more 
 not for so long at a time, 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 a few, because you can't help that. But 
 you mustn't sit still and not pay attention when we talk 
 for ever and ever so long. I I don't know precactly what 
 I and Petunia would do if you wouldn't talk to us, Uncle 
 Jed."
 
 "SHAVINGS" 365 
 
 "Don't, eh ? Humph ! I presume likely you'd get along 
 pretty well. I ain't much account." 
 
 Bai'.ara 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 anybody in Orham can make windmills the 
 way you can. I asked Teacher if there was and she said 
 no. So there! And you're a great cons'lation to all our 
 family," she added, solemnly. "We just couldn't ever 
 ever do without you." 
 
 When the child went Jed did not take the trouble to lock 
 the door after her; consequently his next callers entered 
 without difficulty and came directly to the inner shop. Jed, 
 once more absorbed in gloomy musings not quite as 
 gloomy, perhaps; somehow the clouds had not descended 
 quite so heavily upon his soul since Babbie's visit looked 
 up to see there standing behind him Maud Hunniwell and 
 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 it heartily. 
 
 "Yes, I'm back," he said. 
 
 "Um-hm. . . . And er how did you leave Uncle Sam? 
 Old feller's pretty busy these days, 'cordin' to the papers." 
 
 "Yes, I imagine he is." 
 
 "Um-hm. . . . Well, did you er make him happy? 
 Give his army the one thing needful to make it er per- 
 fect?" 
 
 Charlie laughed. "If you mean did I add myself to it," 
 he said, "I did. I am an enlisted man now, Jed. As soon 
 as Von Hindenburg hears that, he'll commit suicide, I'm 
 sure."
 
 366 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed insisted on shaking hands with him again. "You're 
 a lucky feller, Charlie," he declared. "I only wish I had 
 your chance. Yes, you're lucky in a good m? y ways," 
 with a glance at Maud. "And, speaking of Uncle Sam," 
 he added, "reminds me of well, of Daddy Sam. How's 
 he behavin' this mornin'? I judge from the fact that you 
 two are together he's a little more rational than he was 
 last night. . . . Eh?" 
 
 Phillips looked puzzled, but Maud evidently understood. 
 "Daddy has been very nice to-day," she said, demurely. 
 "Charlie had a long talk with him and and " 
 
 "And he was mighty fine," declared Phillips with em- 
 phasis. "We had a heart to heart talk and I held nothing 
 back. I tell you, Jed, it did me good to speak the truth, 
 whole and nothing but. I told Captain Hunniwell that I 
 didn't deserve his daughter. He agreed with me there, of 
 course." 
 
 "Nonsense!" interrupted Maud, with a happy laugh. 
 
 "Not a bit of nonsense. We agreed that no one was good 
 enough for you. But I told him I wanted that daughter 
 very much indeed and, provided she was agreeable and 
 was willing to wait until the war was over and I came back ; 
 taking it for granted, of course, that I " 
 
 He hesitated, bit his lip and looked apprehensively at 
 Miss Hunniwell. Jed obligingly helped him over the thin ice. 
 
 "Provided you come back a major general or or a com- 
 modore or a corporal's guard or somethin'," he observed. 
 
 "Yes," gratefully, "that's it. I'm sure to be a high pri- 
 vate at least. Well, to cut it short, Jed, I told Captain 
 Hunniwell all my past and my hopes and plans for the fu- 
 ture. He was forgiving and forbearing and kinder than 
 I had any right to expect. We understand each other now 
 and he is willing, always provided that Maud is willing, too,
 
 'SHAVINGS" 367 
 
 to give me my opportunity to make good. That is all any 
 one could ask." 
 
 "Yes, I should say 'twas. . . . But Maud, how about 
 her? You had consider'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 demanded to be told more particulars concerning the 
 enlisting. So Charles told the story of his Boston trip, 
 while Maud looked and listened adoringly, and Jed, watch- 
 ing the young people's happiness, was, for the time, almost 
 happy himself. 
 
 When they rose to go Charlie laid a hand on Jed's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "I can't tell you," he said, "what a brick you've been 
 through all this. If it hadn't been for you, old man, I 
 don't know how it might have ended. We owe you about 
 everything, Maud and I. You've been 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 
 .io to tell a a screech owl he's a canary. He's liable to 
 believe it by and by and start singin' in public. . . . Then 
 he finds out he's just 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 me tell him what Father said last nighv. When he 
 went out he left me crying and so miserable that I wanted 
 to die. He had found Charlie's letter and we we had had 
 a dreadful scene and he had spoken to me a? had never 
 heard him speak hefore. Ajid, later, after he came bacl
 
 368 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 I was almost afraid to have him come into the room where 
 I was. But he was just as different as could be. He told 
 me he had been thinking the matter over and had decided 
 that, perhaps, he had been unreasonable and silly and cross. 
 Then he said some nice things about Charlie, quite differ- 
 ent from what he said at first. And when we had made it 
 all up and I asked him what had changed his mind so he 
 told me it was you, Jed. He said he came to you and you 
 put a flea in his ear. He wouldn't tell me what he meant, 
 but he simply smiled and said you had put a flea in his 
 ear." 
 
 Jed, himself, could not help smiling faintly. 
 
 "W-e-e-11," 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't have been much exaggeration." 
 
 "So we owe you that, too," continued Maud. "And, 
 afterwards, when Daddy and I were talking we agreed that 
 you were probably the best man in Orham. There!" 
 
 And she stooped impulsively and kissed him. 
 
 Jed, very much embarrassed, shook his head. "That 
 er insect I put in your pa's ear must have touched both 
 your brains, I cal'late," he drawled. But he was pleased, 
 nevertheless. If he was a fool it was something to have 
 people think him a good sort of fool. 
 
 It was almost four o'clock when Jed's next visitor came. 
 He was the one man whom he most dreaded to meet just 
 then. Yet he hid his feelings and rose with hand out- 
 stretched. 
 
 "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 my good fortune. Will you congratulate me?" 
 
 Jed's reply was calm and deliberate and he did his best 
 to make it sound whole-hearted and sincere.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 369 
 
 "I sartin do," he declared. "Anybody that wouldn't 
 congratulate you on that could swap his head for a billiard 
 ball and make money on the dicker; the ivory he'd get 
 would be better than the bone he gave away. . . . Yes, 
 Major Grover, you're a lucky man." 
 
 To save his life he could not entirely keep the shake from 
 his voice as he said it. If Grover noticed it he put it down 
 to the sincerity 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 loyal friend and counselor you have been to 
 her and she and I both are very, very grateful." 
 
 Jed stirred uneasily. "Sho, sho!" he protested. "I 
 haven't done anything. Don't talk about it, please. I 
 I'd rather you wouldn't." 
 
 "Very well, since you wish it, I won't. But she and I 
 will always think of it, you may be sure of that. I dropped 
 in here now just to tell you this and to thank you person- 
 ally. And I wanted to tell you, 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 respect him for 
 doing, and you and I can see that Ruth does not suffer. 
 But I think Babbitt will keep still. I hope I have fright- 
 ened 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 since January loaded up to the muzzle with spite and 
 sure-thing vengeance, same as an old-fashioned horse pis- 
 tol used to be loaded with powder and ball, it must be kind 
 of hard, just as you're set to pull trigger, to have to quit
 
 370 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 ap- 
 peared to be nearer apoplexy than dyspepsia," he said. 
 
 "Ye-es. Well, I'm sorry for him, I really am. It must 
 be pretty dreadful to be so cross-grained that you can't 
 like even your own self without feelin' lonesome. . . . 
 Yes, that's a bad state of affairs. ... 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 an element of mystery. 
 
 "I shall have another matter to talk over with you soon, 
 Jed," he said. "But that will come later, when my plans 
 are more complete. Good afternoon and thank you once 
 more. You've been pretty fine through all this secret- 
 keeping business, if you don't mind my saying so. And a, 
 mighty true friend. So true," he added, "that I shall, in 
 all probability, ask you to assume another trust for me be- 
 fore long. I can't think of any one else to whom I could 
 so safely leave it. Good-by." 
 
 One more visitor came that afternoon. To be exact, he 
 did not come until evening. He opened the outer door very 
 softly and tiptoed into the living-room. Jed was sitting 
 by the little "gas burner" stove, one knee drawn up and 
 his foot swinging. There was a saucepan perched on top 
 of the stove. A small hand lamp on the table furnished 
 the only light. He did not hear the person who entered 
 and when a big hand was laid upon his shoulder he started 
 violently. 
 
 "Eh?" he exclaimed, his foot falling with a thump to 
 the floor. "Who? . . . Oh, it's you, ain't it, Sam? . . . 
 Good land, you made me jump! I must be gettin' nerv- 
 ous, I guess." 
 
 Captain Sam looked at him in some surprise. "Gracious
 
 'SHAVINGS" 371 
 
 king, I believe you are," he observed. "I didn't think you 
 had any nerves, Jed. No, nor any temper, either, until last 
 night. You pretty nigh blew me out of water then. Ho, 
 ho!" 
 
 Jed was much distressed. "Sho, sho, Sam," he stam- 
 mered; "T , awful sorry about that. I I wasn't feelin' 
 exactly er first rate or I wouldn't have talked to you 
 that way. I I you know I didn't mean it, 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," he declared. "Yes, sir, I cal'late the average per- 
 son would have been willin' to risk a small bet say a 
 couple of million that you meant it. When you ordered 
 me to go home I just tucked my tail down 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!" he cried. "Did I tell you to go home, Sam? Yes, 
 yes, I remember I did. Sho, sho! . . . Well, I'm awful 
 sorry. I hope you'll forgive 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 stinging slap. "You're wrong there, Jed," he declared, 
 with emphasis. " 'Twas just the way for you to talk to 
 me. I needed it ; and," with another 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 in your eye. Well, don't you do it. You told me 
 to go home and think, Jed, and those were just the orders 
 I needed. I did go home and I did think. . . . Humph! 
 Thinkin's a kind of upsettin' job sometimes, ain't it, es- 
 pecially when you sit right down and think about yourself,
 
 372 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 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 to doin' it?" 
 
 Jed sighed. "Ye-es," he drawled. "I shouldn't wonder 
 <f I had, Sam." 
 
 "Well, probably 'twan't as disturbin' a job with you as 
 'twas for me. You didn't have as high a horse to climb 
 down off of. I thought and thought and thought and the 
 more I thought the meaner the way I'd acted and talked 
 to Maud seemed to me. I liked Charlie; I'd gone around 
 this county for months braggin' about what a smart, able 
 chap he was. As I told you once I'd rather have had her 
 marry him than anybody else I know. And I had to give 
 in that the way he'd behaved his goin' off and enlistin', 
 settlin' that before he asked her or spoke to me, was a 
 square, manly thing to do. 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 any means !" 
 
 "I know. He told me this mornin'. Well, then, if he 
 and Maud love each other, thinks I, what right have I to 
 say they shan't be happy, especially as they're both willin' 
 to wait ? Why should I say he can't at least have his chance 
 to make good ? Nigh's I could make out the only reason was 
 my pride and the big plans I'd made for my girl. I came 
 out of my thinkin' spell with my mind made up that what 
 ailed me was selfishness and pride. So I talked it over with 
 her last night and with Charlie to-day. The boy shall 
 have his chance. Both of 'em shall have their chance, Jed. 
 They're happy and well, I feel consider'ble better myself.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 373 
 
 All else there is 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 to make her marryin' some rich chap, gover- 
 nor or senator or somethin' they're all gone overboard. 
 I used to wish and wish for her, like a young-one wishin' 
 on a load of hay, or the first star at 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 little thinkin' myself. . . . Ye-es, consider'ble thinkin'. 
 . . . Fact is, seems now as if I hadn't done anything but 
 think since the world was cranked up and started turnin' 
 over. And I guess there's only one answer. When we 
 can't have our wishes then it's up to us to to " 
 
 "Well, to what?" 
 
 "Why, to stick to our jobs and grin, that's about all. 
 'Tain't much, I know, especially jobs like some of us have, 
 but it's somethin'." 
 
 Captain Sam nodded. "It's a good deal, Jed," he de- 
 clared. "It's some stunt to grin in these days." 
 
 Jed rose slowly to his feet. He threw back his shoulders 
 with the gesture of one determined to rid himself of a 
 burden. 
 
 "It is it is so, Sam," he drawled. "But maybe that 
 makes it a little more worth while. What do you think?" 
 
 His friend regarded him thoughtfully. "Jed," he said, 
 "I never saw anybody who had the faculty of seein' straight 
 through to the common sense inside of things the way you 
 have. Maud and I were talkin' about that last night. 'Go 
 home and think and thank God,' you said to me. And that 
 was what I needed to do. 'Enlist and you'll be independ-
 
 374 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 ent,' you said to Charlie and it set him on the road. 'Stick 
 to your job and grin,' you say now. How do you do it, 
 Jed? Remember one time I told you I couldn't decide 
 whether you was a dum fool or a King Solomon ? I know 
 now. Of the two of us I'm nigher to bein' the dum fool; 
 and, by the gracious king, you are a King Solomon." 
 
 Jed slowly shook his head. "Sam," he said, sadly, "if 
 you knew what I know about me you'd . . . but there, 
 you're talkin' wild. I was cal'latin' to have a cup of te& 
 and you'd better have one, too. I'm heatin' some water on 
 top of the stove now. It must be about ready." 
 
 He lifted the saucepan from the top of the "gas burner" 
 and tested the water with his finger. 
 
 "Hum," he mused, "it's stone cold. I can't see why it 
 hasn't het faster. 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'm King Solomon for sartin. Probably 
 he did things like that every day or so. ... Give me a 
 match, will you, Sam ?"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IT had been a chill morning in early spring when Charlie 
 Phillips went to Boston to enlist. Now it was a balmy 
 evening in August and Jed sat upon a bench by his 
 kitchen door looking out to sea. The breeze was light, 
 barely sufficient to turn the sails of the little mills, again 
 so thickly sprinkled about the front yard, or to cause the 
 wooden sailors to swing their paddles. The August moon 
 was rising gloriously behind the silver bar of the horizon. 
 From the beach below the bluff came the light laughter of 
 a group of summer young folk, strolling from the hotel to 
 the post-office by the shore route. 
 
 Babbie, who had received permission to sit up and see 
 the moon rise, was perched upon the other end of the 
 bench, Petunia in her arms. A distant drone, which had 
 been audible for some time, was gradually becoming a 
 steady humming roar. A few moments later and a be- 
 lated hydro-aeroplane passed across the face of the moon, 
 a dragon-fly silhouette against the shining disk. 
 
 "That bumble-bee's gettin' home late," observed Jed. 
 "The rest of the hive up there at East Harniss have gone 
 to roost two or three hours ago. Wonder what kept him 
 out this scandalous hour. Had tire trouble, think?" 
 
 Barbara laughed. 
 
 "You're joking again, Uncle Jed," she said. "That kind 
 of aeroplane couldn't have any tire trouble, 'cause it hasn't 
 got any tires." 
 
 Mr. Winslow appeared to reflect. "That's so," he ad- 
 mitted, "but I don't know as we'd ought to count too much 
 
 375
 
 376 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 on that. I remember when Gabe Bearse had brain fever." 
 
 This was a little deep for Babbie, whose laugh was some- 
 what uncertain. She changed the subject. 
 
 "Oh !" she cried, with a wiggle, "there's a caterpillar 
 right here on this bench with us, Uncle Jed. He's a fuzzy 
 one, too ; I can see the 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 walk on 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 as guardian, I expect. Last letter I had from your pa& 
 he said he counted on my lookin' out for you and your 
 mamma. If he thought I let ticklesome kitten-pillars come 
 walkin' on you he wouldn't cal'late I amounted to much." 
 
 For this was the "trust" to which Major Grover had 
 referred in his conversation with Jed. Later he explained 
 his meaning. He was expecting soon to be called to active 
 service "over there." Before he went he and Ruth were 
 to be married. 
 
 "My wife and Barbara will stay here in the old house, 
 Jed," he said, "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'll be safe with you." 
 
 Jed looked at him aghast. "Good land of love !" he cried. 
 "You don't mean it?" 
 
 "Of course I mean it. Don't look so frightened, man. 
 It's just what you've been doing ever since they came here, 
 that's all. Ruth says she has been going to you for advice 
 since the beginning. I just want her to keep on doing it." 
 
 "But but, my soul, I / ain't fit to be anybody's 
 guardian. . . . I I ought to have somebody guardin' me.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 377 
 
 Anybody'll tell you that. . . . Besides, I I don't 
 think " 
 
 "Yes, you do ; and you generally think right. Oh, come, 
 don't talk any more about it. It's a bargain, of course. 
 And if there's anything I can do for you on the other side 
 I'll be only too happy to oblige." 
 
 Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-11," 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, if you get a chance, will you?" 
 
 Of course, the guardianship was, in a sense, a joke, but 
 in another it was not. Jed knew that Leonard Grover's 
 leaving his wife and Babbie 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 ex- 
 pecting one every day. And Petunia and I expect one, too, 
 and we're just as excited about it as we can be. A letter 
 like that is most par-particklesome exciting. . . . No, I 
 don't mean particklesome it was the caterpillar made me 
 think of that. I mean partickle-ar exciting. Don't you 
 think it is, Uncle Jed ?" 
 
 Captain Sam Hunniwell came strolling around the cor- 
 ner of the shop. Jed greeted him warmly and urged him 
 to sit down. The captain declined. 
 
 "Can't stop," he declared. "There's a letter for Maud 
 from Charlie in to-night's mail and I want to take it home 
 to her. Letters like that can't be held up on the way, you 
 know." 
 
 Charlie Phillips, too, was in France with his regiment.
 
 378 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 "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 this afternoon to caw over it. Said the telegram had 
 just come to Phineas. I was hopin' 't wasn'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 a shell splinter while doin' his duty with exceptional 
 bravery, so the telegram said. 'Twas from Washin'ton, of 
 course. And there was somethin' in it about his bein' rec- 
 ommended for one of those war 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 a letter 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 a complaint in it, just cheerfulness, 
 you know, and and grit and confidence, but no brag." 
 
 "I see. Well, Charlie writes the same way." 
 
 "Ye-es. They all do, pretty much. Well, how about 
 Phineas? How does the old feller take the news? Have 
 you heard?" 
 
 "Why, yes, I've heard. Of course I haven't talked with 
 him. He'd no more speak to me than he would to the 
 Evil One." 
 
 Jed's lip twitched. "Why, probably not quite so quick, 
 Sam," he drawled. "Phin ought to be on pretty good terms 
 with the Old Scratch. 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 Phin had read the telegram he never said a word.
 
 'SHAVINGS" 379 
 
 Just got up and walked into his back shop. But Jerry 
 Burgess said that, later on, at the post-office somebody said 
 somethin' about how Leander must be a mighty good 
 fighter to be recommended for that cross, and Phineas was 
 openin' his mail box and heard 'em. Jerry says old Phin 
 turned and snapped out over his shoulder: 'Why not? 
 He's my son, ain't he?' So there you are. Maybe that's 
 pride, or cussedness, or both. 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 youf 
 front gate off the hinges for ?" 
 
 Jed, who had been gazing dreamily out to sea for the past 
 few minutes, 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 front gate 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" 
 up alongside the fence. What did you do it for?" 
 
 Jed sighed. "It squeaked like time," he drawled, "and 
 I had to stop 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 came to the conclusion the Almighty must have 
 meant me to use it; so I did. Anyhow, it stopped the 
 squeakin'." 
 
 Captain Sam roared delightedly. "That's fine," he de- 
 clared. "It does me good to have you act that way. You 
 haven't done anything so crazy as that for the last six 
 months. I believe the old Jed Winslow's come back again. 
 That's fine."
 
 380 "SHAVINGS" 
 
 Jed smiled his slow smile. "I'm stickin' to my job, 
 5am," he said. 
 
 "And grinnin'. Don't forget to grin, Jed." 
 .' "W-e-e-11, when I stick to my job, Sam, 'most everybody 
 grins." 
 
 Babbie accompanied the captain to the place where the 
 gate had been. Jed, left alone, hummed a hymn. The 
 door of the little house 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 all right when she is with you, Jed." 
 
 Babbie came dancing back. Somewhere in a distant part 
 of the village 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 and was looking off over the water, her delicate 
 face and slender figure 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 play with or somethin'. Dogs get funny notions, some- 
 times." 
 
 Babbie laughed. "I think he's awf'ly silly," she said. 
 "He couldn't have the moon, you know, could he? The 
 moon wasn't made for a dog." 
 
 Jed, still gazing at Ruth, drew a long breath. 
 
 "That's right," he admitted.
 
 "SHAVINGS" 381 
 
 The child listened to the lugubrious canine wails for a 
 moment ; then she said thoughtfully : "I feel kind of sorry 
 for this poor dog, though. He sounds as if he wanted the 
 moon just dreadf'ly." 
 
 "Urn . . . yes ... I presume likely he thinks he does. 
 But he'll feel better about it by and by. He'll realize that, 
 same as you say, the moon wasn't made for a dog. Just 
 as soon as he comes to that conclusion, he'll be a whole lot 
 better dog. . . . Yes, and a happier one, too," he added, 
 slowly. 
 
 Barbara did not speak at once and Jed began to whistle 
 a doleful melody. Then the former declared, with empha- 
 sis: "I think some dogs are awf'ly nice." 
 
 "Urn? . . . What? ... Oh, you do, eh?" 
 
 She snuggled close to him on the bench. 
 
 "I think you're awf'ly nice, too, Uncle Jed," she con- 
 fided. 
 
 Jed looked down at her over his spectacles. 
 
 "Sho! . . . Bow, wow!" he observed. 
 
 Babbie burst out laughing. Ruth turned and came 
 toward them over the 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 watch- 
 dog, 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 
 love him, 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."
 
 382 "SHAY IN Gb" 
 
 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 
 Chat's enough to make any dog thankful"
 
 BECTL)
 
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