find so much more to do than one can, all alone; and they
made it four as often as they could, for Dick Lee had proved himself the
best kind of company. Frank Harley's East-Indian experience had made him
indifferent to the mere question of color, and Ford Foster was too much
of a "man" to forget that long night of gale and fog and danger on board
"The Swallow."

It was only a day or two after that perilous "cruise," that Dab Kinzer
met his old playmate, Jenny Walters, just in the edge of the village.

"How well you look, Dabney!" remarked the sharp-tongued little lady.
"Drowning must agree with you."

"Yes," said Dab, "I like it."

"Do you know what a fuss they made over you, when you were gone? I
s'pose they'd nothing else to do."

"Jenny," said Dab suddenly, holding out his hand, "you mustn't quarrel
with me any more. Bill Lee told me about your coming down to the
landing. You may say any thing to me you want to."

Jenny colored, and bit her lip; and she would have given her bonnet to
know if Bill Lee had told Dab how very red her eyes were, as she looked
down the inlet for some sign of "The Swallow." Something had to be said,
however; and she said it almost spitefully.

"I don't care, Dabney Kinzer: it did seem dreadful to think of you three
boys being drowned, and you, too, with your new clothes on.
Good-morning, Dab."

"She's a right good-hearted girl, if she'd only show it," muttered Dab,
as Jenny tripped away; "but she isn't a bit like Annie Foster."

His thoughts must have been on something else than his young-lady
acquaintances, nevertheless; for his next words were, "How I do wish Ham
Morris would come home!"

There was time enough for that, and Ham was hardly likely to be in a
hurry. The days were well employed in his absence; and, as they went by,
the Morris homestead went steadily on looking less and less like its old
self, and more and more like a house made for people to live and be
happy in. Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters had now settled down in their
new quarters as completely as if they had never known any others; and it
seemed to Dab, now and then, as if they had taken almost too complete
possession. His mother had her room, of course; and a big one it was.
There could be no objection to that. Then another big one, of the very
best, had to be set apart and fitted up for Ham and Miranda on their
return home; and Dab had taken great delight in doing all in his power
to make that room all it