“Franteek.”  Miss Barbara herself seemed a little doubtful of the word.  At any rate Mamma said it was something like that, and it meant they liked it anyway.  So Mr. Winslow was left to ponder whether “antique” or “unique” was intended and to follow his train of thought wherever it chanced to lead him, while the child prattled on.  They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jed came out of his walking trance to hear her say: 

“Anyway, we like it all but the sal’ratus biscuits and the coffee and they are dreadful.  Mamma thinks it’s made of chickenry—­the coffee, I mean.”

At the gate Jed’s “queerness,” or shyness, came upon him.  The idea of meeting Mrs. Armstrong or even the members of the Smalley family he shrank from.  Barbara invited him to come in, but he refused even to accompany her to the door.

“I’ll just run along now,” he said, hurriedly.  “Good night.”

The child put out her hand.  “Good night,” she said.  “Thank you very much for helping me carry the fish home.  I’m coming to see you again some day.”

She scampered up the walk.  Jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilac bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw the door open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, who cried:  “Oh, Babbie, dear, where have you been?  Mamma was so frightened!”

He smiled over the memory of the little girl’s visit more than once that evening.  He was very fond of children and their society did not embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups—­ strangers, that is.  He remembered portions of Miss Barbara’s conversation and determined to repeat them to Captain Sam Hunniwell, the next time the latter called.

And that next time was the following forenoon.  Captain Sam, on the way to his office at the bank, stopped his car at the edge of the sidewalk and came into the shop.  Jed, having finished painting wooden sailors for the present, was boxing an assorted collection of mills and vanes to be sent South, for a certain demand for “Winslow mills” was developing at the winter as well as the summer resorts.  It was far from winter yet, but this purchaser was forehanded.

“Hello, Jed,” hailed the captain, “busy as usual.  You’ve got the busy bee a mile astern so far as real hustlin’ is concerned.”

Jed took a nail from the half dozen held between his lips and applied its point to the box top.  His sentences for the next few minutes were mumbled between nails and punctuated with blows of the hammer.

“The busy bee,” he mumbled, “can sting other folks.  He don’t get stung much himself.  Collectin’ honey’s easier, I cal’late, than collectin’ money.”

Captain Sam grunted.  “Are you stung again?” he demanded.  “Who did it this time?”

Jed pointed with the hammer to an envelope lying on a pile of wooden crows.  The captain took up the envelope and inspected its contents.