Two or three groups of customers came in, purchased and departed.  Captain Jerry Burgess dropped in to bring the Winslow mail, which in this case consisted of an order, a bill and a circular setting forth the transcendent healing qualities of African Balm, the Foe of Rheumatism.  Mr. Bearse happened in to discuss the great news of the proposed aviation camp and to tell with gusto and detail how Phineas Babbitt had met Captain Hunniwell “right square in front of the bank” and had not spoken to him.  “No, sir, never said a word to him no more’n if he wan’t there.  What do you think of that?  And they say Leander wrote his dad that he thought he was goin’ to like soldierin’ fust-rate, and Mrs. Sarah Mary Babbitt she told Melissa Busteed that her husband’s language when he read that was somethin’ sinful.  She said she never was more thankful that they had lightnin’ rods on the roof, ’cause such talk as that was enough to fetch down fire from heaven.”

CHAPTER V

It was nearly noon when Jed, entering the front shop in answer to the bell, found there the couple the sight of which caused his heart to sink.  Here they were, the house hunters—­there was no doubt of it in his mind.  The man was short and broad and protuberant and pompous.  The woman possessed all the last three qualities, besides being tall.  He shone with prosperity and sunburn, she reeked of riches and talcum.  They were just the sort of people who would insist upon hiring a house that was not in the market; its not being in the market would, in their eyes, make it all the more desirable.

Jed had seen them before, knew they were staying at the hotel and that their names were Powless.  He remembered now, with a thrill of alarm, that Mr. Bearse had recently spoken of them as liking Orham very much and considering getting a place of their own.  And of course Captain Sam, hearing this, had told them of the Winslow place, had sent them to him.  “Oh, Lord!  Oh, Lord!” thought Jed, although what he said was:  “Good mornin’.”

He might as well have said nothing.  Mrs. Powless, looming large between the piles of mills and vanes, like a battleship in a narrow channel, was loftily inspecting the stock through her lorgnette.  Her husband, his walking stick under his arm and his hands in his pockets, was not even making the pretense of being interested; he was staring through the seaward window toward the yard and the old house.

“These are really quite extraordinary,” the lady announced, after a moment.  “George, you really should see these extraordinary things.”

George was, evidently, not interested.  He continued to look out of the window.

“What are they?” he asked, without turning.

“Oh, I don’t know.  All sorts of queer dolls and boats—­and creatures, made of wood.  Like those outside, you know—­er—­ teetotums, windmills.  Do come and look at them.”