upon, and, at least for the present, I hope it may not be treasonable to say that Miss Jelliffe is the more restful of the two.  We men are apt to think that the privilege of striving and pushing forward should be exclusively ours, and when we see a woman occupied with something of that sort we are somewhat apt to resent it as an unjustifiable poaching in our preserves.  For a long time I considered Dora’s efforts to be something in the nature of growing pains, which would disappear in the course of time.  Now I am not so sure of this.  Yet when I think of the dear little girl my heart beats faster, and somehow I persist in believing that a day will come when she will drift towards me, and we will tackle the further problems of life together.

I must confess I am glad to have met the Jelliffes.  Barnett and his wife have been the only people with whom one could exchange ideas unconnected with codfish.  The parson is a splendid little chap, utterly cocksure of a lot of things I take good care not to discuss too deeply with him.  Moreover he is away a good part of the time, and composes his sermons with a painstaking care which must be somewhat wasted on Sweetapple Cove.  I don’t believe the people are really interested in the meaning of Greek texts.  When he is in the throes of inspiration none dare go near him and Mrs. Barnett, the good soul, walks on tiptoe and hushes her brood.  I only meet her at various sick-beds.  In her own home she is so tremendously busy that I feel I have no right to trespass too often.  The baby requires a lot of care, and there are lessons to the others, and family sewing, and keeping an eye upon the little servant.  Worshipping her husband takes up the rest of her time.

After I had my breakfast I left Sammy’s house, where I have an office which would astonish some of my New York friends.  I had scraped my face and put on fairly decent clothing in deference not only to my own preferences but also to the feelings of the newcomers.

I was hardly out of the house before Sammy’s wife came running after me.

“You’s forgot your mitts,” she cried.  “Here they is.  I hung ’em up back o’ th’ stove ter dry.  It’s like ter be cold at sea an’ ye’ll be wantin’ them.”

I thanked the good woman, telling her that I could afford to be careless since I had her to look after me.

“Oh!  Don’t be talkin’,” she answered, highly pleased.

I stopped for a moment to light my pipe.  Mrs. Sammy was now calling upon her offspring to hasten, for it was a fair drying day.  The sun was out and the ripples glimmered brightly over the cove.  The people were climbing up on their flakes, tall scaffolds built on a foundation of lender poles, and were spreading out the split, flattened codfish, that would have to dry many days before it would be fit to trade or sell.  Everywhere in the settlement women and children, and a few old men unfit for harder labor, were engaged in the same back-breaking occupation.  The spreading out always seems easy enough, for they deal out the fishy slabs as cards are thrown upon a table, but the picking and turning are arduous for ancient spines stiffened by years of toil.