nted. "I see. You cal'late that Lute Small will
fill Gus Howes' job about the way you filled those boots, eh? You
may be right, shouldn't wonder if you was, but we've got to have
somebody and we've got to have him now. So I guess likely we'll
let Lute sign on and wait till later to find out whether he's an
able seaman or a--a--"

He hesitated, groping for a simile. Mr. Winslow supplied one.

"Or a leak," he suggested.

"Yes, that's it. Say, have you heard anything from Leander Babbitt
lately?"

"No, nothin' more than Gab Bearse was reelin' off last time he was
in here. How is Phin Babbitt? Does he speak to you yet?"

"Not a word. But the looks he gives me when we meet would sour
milk. He's dead sartin that I had somethin' to do with his boy's
volunteerin' and he'll never forgive me for it. He's the best hand
at unforgivin' I ever saw. No, no! Wonder what he'd say if he
knew 'twas you, Jed, that was really responsible?"

Jed shook his head, but made no reply. His friend was at the door.

"Any money to take to the bank?" he inquired. "Oh, no, I took what
you had yesterday, didn't I? Any errands you want done over to
Harniss? Maud and I are goin' over there in the car this
afternoon."

Jed seemed to reflect. "No-o," he said; "no, I guess not. . . .
Why, yes, I don't know but there is, though. If you see one of
those things the soldiers put on in the trenches I'd wish you'd buy
it for me. You know what I mean--a gas mask."

"A gas mask! Gracious king! What on earth?"

Jed sighed. "'Twould be consider'ble protection when Gabe Bearse
dropped in and started talkin'," he drawled, solemnly.

October came in clear and fine and on a Saturday in that month Jed
and Barbara went on their long anticipated picnic to the aviation
camp at East Harniss. The affair was one which they had planned
together. Barbara, having heard much concerning aviation during
her days of playing and listening in the windmill shop, had asked
questions. She wished to know what an aviation was. Jed had
explained, whereupon his young visitor expressed a wish to go and
see for herself. "Couldn't you take Petunia and me some time, Mr.
Winslow?" she asked.

"Guess maybe so," was the reply, "provided I don't forget it, same
as you forget about not callin' me Mr. Winslow."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Petunia ought to have reminded me. Can't you
take me some time, Uncle Jed?"

He had insisted upon her dropping the "Mr." in add