the population, who
seemed to have known one another intimately for years, rose up at
midnight to make Welsh rarebits if it felt hungry. On the second
morning of her stay Mrs. Cheyne put away her diamond solitaires before
she came down to breakfast.

"They're most delightful people," she confided to her husband; "so
friendly and simple, too, though they are all Boston, nearly."

"That isn't simpleness, Mama," he said, looking across the boulders
behind the apple-trees where the hammocks were slung. "It's the other
thing, that what I haven't got."

"It can't be," said Mrs. Cheyne quietly. "There isn't a woman here owns
a dress that cost a hundred dollars. Why, we--"

"I know it, dear. We have--of course we have. I guess it's only the
style they wear East. Are you having a good time?"

"I don't see very much of Harvey; he's always with you; but I ain't
near as nervous as I was."

"I haven't had such a good time since Willie died. I never rightly
understood that I had a son before this. Harve's got to be a great boy.
'Anything I can fetch you, dear? 'Cushion under your head? Well, we'll
go down to the wharf again and look around."

Harvey was his father's shadow in those days, and the two strolled
along side by side, Cheyne using the grades as an excuse for laying his
hand on the boy's square shoulder. It was then that Harvey noticed and
admired what had never struck him before--his father's curious power of
getting at the heart of new matters as learned from men in the street.

"How d'you make 'em tell you everything without opening your head?"
demanded the son, as they came out of a rigger's loft.

"I've dealt with quite a few men in my time, Harve, and one sizes 'em
up somehow, I guess. I know something about myself, too." Then, after a
pause, as they sat down on a wharf-edge: "Men can 'most always tell
when a man has handled things for himself, and then they treat him as
one of themselves."

"Same as they treat me down at Wouverman's wharf. I'm one of the crowd
now. Disko has told every one I've earned my pay." Harvey spread out
his hands and rubbed the palms together. "They're all soft again," he
said dolefully.

"Keep 'em that way for the next few years, while you're getting your
education. You can harden 'em up after."

"Ye-es, I suppose so," was the reply, in no delighted voice.

"It rests with you, Harve. You can take cover behind your mama, of
course, and put her on to fussing about your nerves a