ologetic.

"I be right," insisted Mrs. Todd with much amiability. "'Twas most too
bad to cramp him down to his peaceful trade, but he's a most excellent
shoemaker at his best, an' he always says it's a trade that gives him
time to think an' plan his maneuvers. Over to the Port they always
invite him to march Decoration Day, same as the rest, an' he does look
noble; he comes of soldier stock."

I had been noticing with great interest the curiously French type of
face which prevailed in this rustic company. I had said to myself before
that Mrs. Blackett was plainly of French descent, in both her appearance
and her charming gifts, but this is not surprising when one has learned
how large a proportion of the early settlers on this northern coast
of New England were of Huguenot blood, and that it is the Norman
Englishman, not the Saxon, who goes adventuring to a new world.

"They used to say in old times," said Mrs. Todd modestly, "that our
family came of very high folks in France, and one of 'em was a great
general in some o' the old wars. I sometimes think that Santin's ability
has come 'way down from then. 'Tain't nothin' he's ever acquired; 'twas
born in him. I don't know's he ever saw a fine parade, or met with those
that studied up such things. He's figured it all out an' got his papers
so he knows how to aim a cannon right for William's fish-house five
miles out on Green Island, or up there on Burnt Island where the
signal is. He had it all over to me one day, an' I tried hard to appear
interested. His life's all in it, but he will have those poor gloomy
spells come over him now an' then, an' then he has to drink."

Mrs. Caplin gave a heavy sigh.

"There's a great many such strayaway folks, just as there is plants,"
continued Mrs. Todd, who was nothing if not botanical. "I know of just
one sprig of laurel that grows over back here in a wild spot, an' I
never could hear of no other on this coast. I had a large bunch brought
me once from Massachusetts way, so I know it. This piece grows in
an open spot where you'd think 'twould do well, but it's sort o'
poor-lookin'. I've visited it time an' again, just to notice its poor
blooms. 'Tis a real Sant Bowden, out of its own place."

Mrs. Caplin looked bewildered and blank. "Well, all I know is, last year
he worked out some kind of plan so's to parade the county conference in
platoons, and got 'em all flustered up tryin' to sense his ideas of a
holler square," she burst