Cap'n Kendrick, this is Mrs.
Aurora Chase, widow of the late Cap'n Ichabod Chase. No doubt, you knew
Cap'n Chase in the old days, Cap'n Kendrick."

And then Aurora, who had been listening with all her ears, and hearing
with perhaps a third of them, broke in to say that her husband was not a
captain. "He was second mate when he died," she explained. "Aboard the
bark _Charles Francis_ he was, bound for New Bedford from the West
Indies with a load of guano."

Miss Snowden, favoring the veracious Aurora with another look, hastily
introduced herself and began to speak of the beauties of the day, of the
surroundings, and particularly of the select and refined joys of life at
the Fair Harbor.

"We have our little circle there," she said. "We live our lives, quiet,
retired, away from the world----"

Mrs. Chase broke in once more to ask what she was talking about. When
the substance of the Snowden rhapsody was given her, she nodded--as well
as her several chins would permit her to nod--and announced that she
agreed.

"We like livin' at the home first-rate," she declared. Elvira flushed.

"It is _not_ a home," she said, sharply. "It is a select retreat, that
is all. It is not a home in _any_ sense of the word. Every one knows
that it is not. Aurora, I wish to goodness you---- But of course Cap'n
Kendrick doesn't want to hear about us all the time. He is interested in
his own new quarters. Do you like it here, Cap'n Kendrick?
I--ah--understand you are, so to speak, a guest of Mr. Cahoon's. He
is--ah--a relation of yours?"

Sears explained the acquaintanceship between Judah and himself. Miss
Snowden nodded comprehension.

"That explains it," she said. "I thought he could hardly be a relation
of _yours_, Cap'n Kendrick. He is--he is a little bit queer, isn't he? I
mean eccentric, you know. Of course I've never met him, and I'm sure
he's real good-hearted, but----"

She paused, leaving the rest of the sentence to be inferred. Captain
Sear's answer was prompt and crisp.

"Judah Cahoon is one of the best fellows that ever lived," he said.

"Yes, I know. I am sure he is. I didn't mean that. I meant is he--is
he----"

And then Judah himself, at work in the garden behind the screen of
bushes, too busy to hear or even be aware of the conversation at the
gate, chose this untoward moment to burst into song, to sing at the top
of his voice, and the top of Judah's voice was an elevation from which
sound traveled far. He sang: