“Umph!” grunted Powless.  “How do you get into the house without a key?”

Jed rubbed his chin, swallowed hard, and drawled that he didn’t very often.

“You do sometimes, don’t you?”

The best answer that the harassed windmill maker could summon was that he didn’t know.  The red-faced gentleman stared at him in indignant amazement.

“You don’t know?” he repeated.  “Which don’t you know, whether you go into the house at all, or how you get in without a key?”

“Yes,—­er—­er—­that’s it.”

Mr. Powless breathed deeply.  “Well, I’ll be damned!” he declared, with conviction.

His wife did not contradict his assertion, but she made one of her own.

“George,” she commanded majestically, “can’t you see the man has been drinking.  Probably he doesn’t own the place at all.  Don’t waste another moment on him.  We will come back later, when the real owner is in.  Come!”

George came and they both went.  Mr. Winslow wiped his perspiring forehead on a piece of wrapping paper and sat down upon a box to recover.  Recovery, however, was by no means rapid or complete.  They had gone, but they were coming back again; and what should he say to them then?  Very likely Captain Sam, who had sent them in the first place, would return with them.  And Captain Sam knew that the key was not really lost.  Jed’s satisfaction in the fact that he had escaped tenantless so far was nullified by the fear that his freedom was but temporary.

He cooked his dinner, but ate little.  After washing the dishes he crossed the road to the telephone and telegraph office and called up the Orham Bank.  He meant to get Captain Hunniwell on the wire, tell him that the house hunters had paid him a visit, that he did not like them, and beg the captain to call them off the scent.  But Captain Sam had motored to Ostable to attend a preliminary session of the Exemption Board.  Jed sauntered gloomily back to the shop.  When he opened the door and entered he was greeted by a familiar voice, which said: 

“Here he is, Mamma.  Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow.”

Jed started, turned, and found Miss Barbara Armstrong beaming up at him.  The young lady’s attire and general appearance were in marked contrast to those of the previous evening.  Petunia also was in calling costume; save for the trifling lack of one eye and a chip from the end of her nose, she would have been an ornament to doll society anywhere.

“This is my mamma,” announced Barbara.  “She’s come to see you.”

“How do you do, Mr. Winslow?” said Mrs. Armstrong.

Jed looked up to find her standing beside him, her hand extended.  Beside a general impression that she was young and that her gown and hat and shoes were white, he was at that moment too greatly embarrassed to notice much concerning her appearance.  Probably he did not notice even this until later.  However, he took her hand, moved it up and down, dropped it again and said:  “I—­I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”