_regime_ as any brisk old
cricket that skipped and sang around the hearth, and though he hopped
over all moral boundaries with a cheerful alertness of conscience that
was quite discouraging, still there was no resisting the spell of his
inexhaustible good-nature.

By this time he had finished the little boat, and to Sally's great
delight, began sailing it for her in a pail of water.

"I wonder," said Mrs. Kittridge, "what's to be done with that ar child.
I suppose the selectmen will take care on't; it'll be brought up by the
town."

"I shouldn't wonder," said Miss Roxy, "if Cap'n Pennel should adopt it."

"You don't think so," said Mrs. Kittridge. "'Twould be taking a great
care and expense on their hands at their time of life."

"I wouldn't want no better fun than to bring up that little shaver,"
said Captain Kittridge; "he's a bright un, I promise you."

"You, Cap'n Kittridge! I wonder you can talk so," said his wife. "It's
an awful responsibility, and I wonder you don't think whether or no
you're fit for it."

"Why, down here on the shore, I'd as lives undertake a boy as a
Newfoundland pup," said the Captain. "Plenty in the sea to eat, drink,
and wear. That ar young un may be the staff of their old age yet."

"You see," said Miss Roxy, "I think they'll adopt it to be company for
little Mara; they're bound up in her, and the little thing pines bein'
alone."

"Well, they make a real graven image of that ar child," said Mrs.
Kittridge, "and fairly bow down to her and worship her."

"Well, it's natural," said Miss Roxy. "Besides, the little thing is
cunnin'; she's about the cunnin'est little crittur that I ever saw, and
has such enticin' ways."

The fact was, as the reader may perceive, that Miss Roxy had been thawed
into an unusual attachment for the little Mara, and this affection was
beginning to spread a warming element though her whole being. It was as
if a rough granite rock had suddenly awakened to a passionate
consciousness of the beauty of some fluttering white anemone that
nestled in its cleft, and felt warm thrills running through all its
veins at every tender motion and shadow. A word spoken against the
little one seemed to rouse her combativeness. Nor did Dame Kittridge
bear the child the slightest ill-will, but she was one of those
naturally care-taking people whom Providence seems to design to perform
the picket duties for the rest of society, and who, therefore, challenge
everybody and every