Ford and Frank could only guess what their friend was up to, but Dab was not doing any guessing.

“Bill,” he exclaimed, as Dick’s father pulled within hearing,—­“Bill, put a lot of your best pan-fish in this basket and then go and fetch us some lobsters.  There’s half a dozen in your pot.  Did those others get any luck?”

“More clams ’n ’ysters,” responded Bill.

“Then we’ll take both lots.”

The respect of the city boys for the resources of the Long Island shore began to rise rapidly a few minutes later, for not only was one of Dab’s baskets promptly provided with “pan-fish,” such as porgies, black fish and perch, but two others received all the clams and oysters they were at all anxious to carry to the house.  At the same time, Bill Lee offered, as an amendment to the lobster question,

“Ye ‘r’ wrong about the pot, Dab.”

“Wrong?  Why—­”

“Yes, you’s wrong.  Glorianny’s been an’ b’iled every one on ’em an’ they ‘re all nice an’ cold by this time.”

“All right.  I never eat my lobsters raw.  Just you go and get them, Dick.  Bring ’em right over to Ford’s house.”

Bill Lee would have sent his house and all on a suggestion that the Kinzers or Fosters were in need of it, and Dick would have carried it over for him.

As for “Gloriana,” when her son came running in with his errand, she exclaimed: 

“Dem lobsters?  Sho!  Dem aint good nuff.  Dey sha’n’t hab ’em.  I’ll jist send de ole man all ’round de bay to git some good ones.  On’y dey isn’t no kin’ o’ lobsters good nuff for some folks, dey isn’t.”

Dick insisted, however, and by the time he reached the back door of the old Kinzer homestead with his load, that kitchen had become very nearly as busy a place as Mrs. Miranda Morris’s own, a few rods away.

“Ford,” suddenly exclaimed Dab, as he finished scaling a large porgy, “what if mother should make a mistake?”

“Make a mistake?  How?”

“Cook that baby!  It’s awful!”

“Why, its mother’s there.”

“Yes, but they’ve put her to bed, and its father too.  Hey, here come the lobsters.  Now, Ford—­”

The rest of what he had to say was given in a whisper, and was not heard by even Annie Foster, who was just then looking prettier than ever as she busied herself around the kitchen fire.  As for the Hart boys, Mrs. Foster had invited them to come into the parlor and talk with her till dinner should be ready.

Such a frying and broiling!

Before Ham Morris was ready for his second start, and right in the midst of his greatest hurry, word came over from Mrs. Foster that “the table was waiting for them all.”

Even Mrs. Kinzer drew a long breath of relief and satisfaction, for there was nothing more in the wide world that she could do, just then, for either “that baby” or its unfortunate parents, and she was beginning to worry about her son-in-law, and how she should get him to eat something.  For Ham Morris had worked himself up into a high state of excitement in his benevolent haste, and did not seem to know that he was hungry.  Miranda had entirely sympathized with her husband until that message came from Mrs. Foster.