“Those folks, so I’m told,” said Cap’n Amazon placidly, “come from that big house on the p’int—­as far as you can see from our windows.  More money than good sense, I guess.  Though the man, he comes of good old Cape stock.  But I guess that blood can de-te-ri-orate, as the feller said.  Ain’t much of it left in the young folks, pretty likely.  They just laze around and play all the time.  If ’All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ you can take it from me, Niece Louise, that all play and no work makes Jill a pretty average useless girl.  Yes, sir!”

To the First Church it was quite a walk, up Main Street beyond the Inn and the post-office.  There was some little bustle on Main Street at church-going time for some of the vacation visitors—­those of more modest pretensions than the occupants of the cottages at The Beaches—­had already arrived.

At the head of the church aisle Cap’n Amazon spoke apologetically to the usher: 

“Young man, my brother, Mr. Abram Silt, hires a pew here; but I don’t rightly know its bearings.  Would you mind showin’ me and my niece the course?”

They were accommodated.  After service several shook hands with them; but Louise noticed that many cast curious glances at the black silk handkerchief on Cap’n Amazon’s head and did not come near.  Despite his dignity and the reverence of his bearing, he did look peculiar with that ’kerchief swathing his crown.

Gusty Durgin, the waitress at the Cardhaven Inn, claimed acquaintanceship after church with Louise.

“There’s goin’ to be more of your crowd come to-morrow, Miss Grayling,” she said.  “Some of ’em’s goin’ to stop with us at the Inn.  How you makin’ out down there to Cap’n Abe’s?  Land sakes! that ain’t Cap’n Abe!”

“It is his brother, Cap’n Amazon Silt,” explained Louise.

“I want to know!  He looks amazin’ funny, don’t he?  Not much like Cap’n Abe.  You see, my folks live down the Shell Road.  My ma married again.  D’rius Vleet.  Nice man, but a Dutchman.  I don’t take up much with these furiners.

“Now! what was I sayin’?  Oh!  The boss tells me there’s a Mr. Judson Bane of your crowd goin’ to stop with us.  Sent a telegraph dispatch for a room to be saved for him.  With bath!  Land sakes! ain’t the whole ocean big enough for him to take a bath in?  We ain’t got nothing like that.  And two ladies—­I forget their names.  You know Mr. Bane?”.

“I have met him—­once,” confessed Louise.

“Some swell he is, I bet,” Gusty declared.  “I’m goin’ to speak to him.  Mebbe he can get me into the company.  I ain’t so aw-ful fat.  I seen a picture over to Paulmouth last night where there was a girl bigger’n I am, and she took a re’l sad part.

“She cried re’l tears. I can do that.  All I got to do is to think of something re’l mis’rable—­like the time our old brahma hen, Beauty, got bit by Esek Coe’s dog, and ma had to saw her up.  Then the tears’ll squeeze right out, just as ea’sy!”