Jed squinted along the edge of the board he was planing.  He made no reply.  Gabe tried again.

“How do you cal’late Cap’n Sam’ll like the notion of his pet daughter takin’ up with another man?” he queried.  Jed was still mute.  His caller lost patience.

“Say, what ails you?” he demanded.  “Can’t you say nothin’?”

Mr. Winslow put down the board and took up another.

“Ye-es,” he drawled.

“Then why don’t you, for thunder sakes?”

“Eh? . . .  Um. . .  Oh, I did.”

“Did what?”

“Say nothin’.”

“Oh, you divilish idiot!  Stop tryin’ to be funny.  I asked you how you thought Cap’n Sam would take the notion of Maud’s havin’ a steady beau?  She’s had a good many after her, but looks as if she was stuck on this one for keeps.”

Jed sighed and looked over his spectacles at Mr. Bearse.  The latter grew uneasy under the scrutiny.

“What in time are you lookin’ at me like that for?” he asked, pettishly.

The windmill maker sighed again.  “Why—­er—­Gab,” he drawled, “I was just thinkin’ likely you might be stuck for keeps.”

“Eh?  Stuck?  What are you talkin’ about?”

“Stuck on that box you’re sittin’ on.  I had the glue pot standin’ on that box just afore you came in and . . . er . . . it leaks consider’ble.”

Mr. Bearse raspingly separated his nether garment from the top of the box and departed, expressing profane opinions.  Jed’s lips twitched for an instant, then he puckered them and began to whistle.

But, although he had refused to discuss the matter with Gabriel Bearse, he realized that there was a strong element of probability in the latter’s surmise.  It certainly did look as if the spoiled daughter of Orham’s bank president had lost her heart to her father’s newest employee.  Maud had had many admirers; some very earnest and lovelorn swains had hopefully climbed the Hunniwell front steps only to sorrowfully descend them again.  Miss Melissa Busteed and other local scandal scavengers had tartly classified the young lady as the “worst little flirt on the whole Cape,” which was not true.  But Maud was pretty and vivacious and she was not averse to the society and adoration of the male sex in general, although she had never until now shown symptoms of preference for an individual.  But Charlie Phillips had come and seen and, judging by appearances, conquered.

Since the Thanksgiving dinner the young man had been a frequent visitor at the Hunniwell home.  Maud was musical, she played well and had a pleasing voice.  Charles’ baritone was unusually good.  So on many evenings Captain Sam’s front parlor rang with melody, while the captain smoked in the big rocker and listened admiringly and gazed dotingly.  At the moving-picture theater on Wednesday and Saturday evenings Orham nudged and winked when two Hunniwells and a Phillips came down the aisle.  Even at the Congregational church, where Maud sang in the choir, the young bank clerk was beginning to be a fairly constant attendant.  Captain Eri Hedge declared that that settled it.