“Ain’t that Pareta’s girl, Ira?” asked Prudence.

“I cal’late.”

“What a bold-looking thing she’s grown to be!  But she’s pretty.”

“As a piney,” agreed Cap’n Ira.  “I reckon she sets all these Portygee boys by the ears.  I hear tell two of ’em had a knife fight over her in Luiz’s fish house some time ago.  She’ll raise real trouble in the town ’fore she’s well and safely married.”

“That is awful,” murmured the old woman, casting another glance back at the girl and wondering why Eunez Pareta scowled so hatefully after them.

Following service, as usual, there was social intercourse on the steps of the church and at the horse sheds back of it.  Particularly did the women gather about Aunt Prudence and Sheila.  As for the men, both young and old, the newcomer’s city ways and unmistakable beauty gave them much to gossip about.  Several of the younger masculine members of Elder Minnett’s congregation came almost to blows over the settlement of who should take the fly cloth off Queenie, back her around, and lead her out to the front of the church when the time came to drive back to the Head.

In addition, Cap’n Ira found himself as popular with the young men as he was wont to be in the old days when he was making up his crew at the port for the Susan Gatskill.

“Prudence,” he said to his wife, but quite loud enough for the girl to hear as they drove sedately homeward, “I cal’late I shall have to buy me some shot and powder and load up the old gun I put away in the attic, thinking I wouldn’t never go hunting no more.”

“Goodness gracious gallop!” ejaculated his wife.  “What for?  I cal’late you won’t go hunting at your time of life!”

“I dunno.  I may be forced to load it up for protection.  But maybe rock salt will do instead of shot,” said Cap’n Ira, still with soberness.  “A feller has got a right to protect himself and his family.”

“Against what, I want to know?”

“I can see the Ball place is about to be overrun with a passel of young sculpins that are going to be more annoying than a dose of snuff in your eye.  That’s right.”

“Why, how you talk!”

“Didn’t ye see ’em all standing around as we drove away from the church, casting sheep’s eyes?  And they’re hating each other already like a hen hates dishwater.  I swan!”

“For the land’s sake!”

“No.  For Ida May’s sake,” chuckled Cap’n Ira.  “That’s who I’ve got to defend with a shotgun.”

The girl flushed rosily, but she laughed, too.

“You can leave them to me, Uncle Ira.  I shall know how to get rid of them.”

“Maybe they won’t come,” said Prudence.

“They won’t?  I swan!” snorted her husband.  “They all see she’s more’n half Honey.  Couldn’t keep ’em away any more than you can flies.”

It was quite as Cap’n Ira prophesied.  The path from Big Wreck Cove across the fields to the Head, a path which had become grass-grown of late years, was soon worn smooth.  It was a shorter way from the town than the wagon road.