s cheerfully. "I'm looking to
pick up some eggs regular. We want to begin to ship again, and eggs
seem to be staying in the nests. He, he! Has Mrs. Ball got any to
spare?"

"I don't cal'late she has. You see," said Cap'n Ira soberly, "we got
another mouth to feed eggs to now. Did you know we had Ida May
Bostwick visiting us? A young lady from Boston. Prue's niece, once
removed."

"Why--I--I--ahem! I saw her at church, Cap'n Ira," faltered Joshua.

"Did ye, now?" rejoined Cap'n Ira, in apparent wonder. "I didn't
suppose you would ever notice her, you not being much for the
ladies, Joshua."

"Oh, I ain't so blind!" giggled the young man, peering in through
the kitchen door, where Sheila was stepping briskly from tubs to
sink and back again.

"That's a fortunate thing," agreed the old man. "But you've got a
long v'y'ge before you, if you cal'late to go to all the houses on
the Head to pick up eggs. Good luck to you, Joshua!"

Josh found himself passed along like a country politician in line at
a presidential reception. His legs got to working without volition,
it seemed, and he was several rods away before he realized that he
had not spoken to the girl at all.

Zebedee Pauling, whose ancestor had been an admiral and was never
forgotten by the Pauling family--Paulmouth was said to have been
named in their honor--arrived at the Ball back door just as the
family was finishing the usual "picked-up" washday dinner. Zebedee
took off his cap with a flourish, and his grin advertised to all
beholders the fact that he felt shy but pleased at his own courage
in appearing thus on the Head.

"Why, Zeb!" exclaimed Prudence. "We haven't seen you up here for a
dog's age. Won't you set?"

"Oh, no'm, no'm! I was just stopping by and thought I'd ask how are
you all, Aunt Prue."

He bobbed and smiled, but kept his gaze fixed upon Sheila to the
exclusion of the two old people. But Cap'n Ira was never to be
overlooked.

"You're going to be mighty neighborly, now, Zeb," he said. "We shall
see you often."

"Er--I don't know, Cap'n Ira," stammered Zebedee, rather taken
aback.

The old man rose and hobbled toward the door with the aid of his
cane, fumbling in his pocket meanwhile.

"Here, Zeb," he said, producing a dime. "You're a willin' friend, I
know. I'm running low on snuff. Get me a packet, will ye? American
Affection is my brand. Just slip it in your pocket and bring it
along with you when you come by to-morrow."

"Bu