at that psychological instant. This person uttered
a little scream, the hen fled with insane yells, the log and its
accompanying shower fell back to earth, and Sears Kendrick and the young
woman--for the newcomer was a young woman--stood and looked at each
other.

She was bareheaded and her hair was dark and abundant, and she was
wearing a gingham dress and a white apron. So much he noticed at this,
their first meeting. Afterward he became aware that she was slender and
that her age might perhaps be twenty-four or twenty-five. At that
moment, of course, he did not notice anything except that her apron and
dress--yes, even her hair and face--were plentifully besprinkled with
earth and that she was holding a hand to her eyes as if they, too, might
have received a share of the results of the terrestrial disturbance.

"Oh!" he stammered. "I'm awfully sorry! I--I hope I didn't hurt you."

If she heard him she did not answer, but, removing her hand, opened and
shut her eyes rapidly. The captain's alarm grew as he watched this
proceeding.

"I--I _do_ hope I didn't hurt you," he repeated. "It--it didn't put your
eyes out, did it?"

She smiled, although rather uncertainly. "No," she said.

"You're sure?"

"Yes." The smile became broader. "It's not quite as bad as that, I
guess. I seem to be able to see all right."

He drew a relieved breath. "Well, I'm thankful for so much, then," he
announced. "But it's all over your dress--and--and in your hair--and....
Oh, I _am_ sorry!"

She laughed at this outburst. "It is all right," she declared. "Of
course it was an accident, and I'm not hurt a bit, really."

"I'm glad of that. Yes, it was an accident--your part of it, I mean. I
didn't see you at all. I meant the part the hen got, though."

Her laugh was over, but there was still a twinkle in her eye. Kendrick
was, by this time, aware that her eyes were brown.

"Yes," she observed, demurely, "I--gathered that you did."

"Yes, I--" It suddenly occurred to him that his language had been as
emphatic as his actions. "Good lord!" he exclaimed. "I forgot. I beg
your pardon for that, too. When I lose my temper I am liable to--to make
salt water remarks, I'm afraid. And those hens.... Eh? There they are
again, hard at it! Will you excuse me while I kill three or four of 'em?
You see, I'm in charge of that garden and.... _Get out!_"

This last was, of course, another roar at the fowl, who, under the
leadership of the rake-helly