they were shortly helping themselves quite liberally to lobster, cuffs
or no cuffs. That was all that was necessary to restore harmony at the
table, but Dab's plan for "punishing the Hart boys" was a complete
failure.

As Ford told him afterwards:

"Feel it? Not they. You might as well try to hurt a clam with a pin."

"And I hurt your sister's feelings instead of theirs," said Dab. "Well,
I'll never try any thing like it again. Anyhow, Joe and Fuz ain't
comfortable they ate too many roasted clams and a good deal too much
lobster."

There was a certain degree of consolation to be had from such a fact as
that.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE REAL MISSION OF THE JUG.

Ham Morris ate well, when he once got at it; but he did not linger long
at the dinner-table, for his heart was in "The Swallow." Dab would have
given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he
felt so dreadfully charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his
stay at Mrs. Foster's, as "cook" or otherwise. He had not by any means
lost his appetite,--although he seemed disposed to neglect the lobsters;
and when he had taken proper care of it he hurried away "on an errand
for his mother," in the direction of the village. Nearly everybody he
met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was
not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old
acquaintance pass her without a word or so.

Dab answered as well as he could, considering the disturbed state of his
mind; but he wound up with,--

"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."

"What for?"

"Oh! I've got something to show you--something you never saw before."

"Do you mean your new baby? the one you found on the bar?"

"Yes, but that baby, Jenny!"

"What's wonderful about it?"

"Why, it's only two years old, and it can squall in two languages.
That's a good deal more than you can do."

"They say your friend, Miss. Foster, speaks French," retorted Jenny.
"Was she ever shipwrecked?"

"In French? May be so; but not in German."

"Well, Dabney, I don't propose to squall in any thing. Are your folks
going to burn any more of their barns this year?"

"Not unless Samantha gets married. Jenny, do you know what's the latest
fashion in lobsters?"

"Changeable green, I suppose."

"No: I mean after they're boiled. It's to have 'em come on the table in
cuffs and collars. Lace around their necks, you know."

"And gloves?"

"No