t out of Judge Trent, and by this time to-morrow
night everything will be going as merry as a marriage bell."

A shrewd guess helped Dunham to find the object of his search at the
post office, where Benny was seated on a barrel, pensively kicking his
heels. Dissembling his eagerness, John nodded a greeting in his
direction, and, passing over to the corner of the grocery sacred to the
Government pigeonholes, asked for the Derwent mail.

The portly wife of the postmaster replied that the evening boat was
late and that they were waiting for the mail.

John accepted this information with proper surprise, and, turning away,
looked through the window at the lights on a swordfisher standing in
the cove. He thought he would first give Benny the chance to volunteer
information.

He had already found that moments spent in the island grocery yielded
rich returns in diversion. It was, in the first place, cause for
rejoicing that the amiable but chronically weary proprietor of the
island emporium, and his too substantial spouse, should be named Frisk.

While John stood there a girl came in and stumbled toward the post
office window. "Have ye shet up the mail bag yet, Mis' Frisk? I want to
git this package in if I possibly can. How much goes on it?"

"I'll have to see," returned the portly one, waddling out to where the
grocery scales stood on the counter. By the light of the kerosene lamp
she leaned over and examined the figures.

"'M. Weighs jest two pounds," she announced.

The girl looked bewildered. "Why, they ain't but two handkerchiefs in
there, Mis' Frisk. I don't see how it could"--

"Hey?" deliberately. "Two handkerchiefs? Let's see." Another
examination. "Oh, ye-us," wearily. "My stomach was on the scales."

Dunham had scarcely recovered from this when another girl, a smart
summer boarder who favored him with a stare of interest as she entered,
approached the proprietor.

Mr. Frisk in his shirt sleeves was viewing a too precipitate world from
behind his counter. "I'd like some marshmallows, please," said the
girl.

"Ain't got any," was the response, given with entire amiability.

"Why," disappointedly, "you did have them last week."

"Ye-us, I know. I tried carryin' ma'shmallers quite a spell: but't
wan't no use. Seems if everybody wanted 'em. I couldn't keep 'em in
stock any time at all, so I give it up."

"Well, I do declare!" exclaimed the young woman. "And, Mr. Frisk, my
mother is distressed because t