door of his little kitchen at the back of the shop and called
her.

"Good evenin'," he hailed. "Takin' in the view, was you?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes, sir," she called in reply; "Petunia and
I were looking at it."

"Sho! Well, what do you and-er--What's-her-name think of it?"

Barbara pondered. "We think it's very nice," she announced, after
a moment. "Don't you like it, Mr. Winslow?"

"Eh? Oh, yes, I like it, I guess. I ain't really had time to look
at it to-day; been too busy."

The child nodded, sympathetically. "That's too bad," she said.
Jed had, for him, a curious impulse, and acted upon it.

"Maybe I might come and look at it now, if I was asked," he
suggested. "Plenty of room on that bench, is there?"

"Oh, yes, sir, there's lots. I don't take much room and Petunia
almost always sits on my lap. Please come."

So Jed came and, sitting down upon the bench, looked off at the
inlet and the beach and the ocean beyond. It was the scene most
familiar to him, one he had seen, under varying weather conditions,
through many summers and winters. This very thought was in his
mind as he looked at it now.

After a time he became aware that his companion was speaking.

"Eh?" he ejaculated, coming out of his reverie. "Did you say
somethin'?"

"Yes, sir, three times. I guess you were thinking, weren't you?"

"Um-m--yes, I shouldn't be surprised. It's one of my bad habits,
thinkin' is."

She looked hard to see if he was smiling, but he was not, and she
accepted the statement as a serious one.

"Is thinking a bad habit?" she asked. "I didn't know it was."

"Cal'late it must be. If it wasn't, more folks would do it. Tell
me, now," he added, changing the subject to avoid further cross-
questioning, "do you and your ma like it here?"

The answer was enthusiastic. "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, "we like it
ever and ever so much. Mamma says it's--" Barbara hesitated, and
then, after what was evidently a severe mental struggle, finished
with, "she said once it was like paradise after category."

"After--which?"

The young lady frowned. "It doesn't seem to me," she observed,
slowly, "as if 'category' was what she said. Does 'category' sound
right to you, Mr. Winslow?"

Jed looked doubtful. "I shouldn't want to say that it did, right
offhand like this," he drawled.

"No-o. I don't believe it was 'category.' But I'm almost sure it
was something about a cat, something a cat eats--or does-