He took down and exhibited his wares one by one.  Barbara asked numberless questions concerning each and chattered like a red squirrel.  Her mother showed such a genuine interest in his work and was so pleasant and quiet and friendly, was, in short, such a marked contrast to Mrs. George Powless, that he found himself actually beginning to enjoy the visit.  Usually he was glad when summer folks finished their looking and buying and went away; but now, when Mrs. Armstrong glanced at the clock on the shelf, he was secretly glad that that clock had not gone for over four months and had providentially stopped going at a quarter after three.

He took them into the inner shop, his workroom, and showed them the band saw and the lathe and the rest of his manufacturing outfit.  Barbara asked if he lived there all alone and he said he did.

“I live out there,” he explained, pointing toward the shop extension.  “Got a sittin’-room and a kitchen out there, and a little upstairs, where I sleep.”

Mrs. Armstrong seemed surprised.  “Why!” she exclaimed, “I thought you lived in that dear little old house next door here.  I was told that you owned it.”

Jed nodded.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I do own it, but I don’t live in it.  I used to live there, but I ain’t for quite a spell now.”

“I don’t see how you could bear to give it up.  It looks so quaint and homey, and if the inside is as delightful as the outside it must be quite wonderful.  And the view is the best in town, isn’t it?”

Jed was pleased.  “Why, yes, ma’am, ’tis pretty good,” he admitted.  “Anyhow, most folks seem to cal’late ’tis.  Wouldn’t you like to come out and look at it?”

Barbara clapped her hands.  “Oh, yes, Mamma, do!” she cried.

Her mother hesitated.  “I don’t know that we ought to trouble Mr. Winslow,” she said.  “He is busy, you know.”

Jed protested.  “It won’t be a mite of trouble,” he declared.  “Besides, it ain’t healthy to work too long at a stretch.  That is,” he drawled, “folks say ’tain’t, so I never take the risk.”

Mrs. Armstrong smiled and followed him out into the yard, where Miss Barbara had already preceded them.  The view over the edge of the bluff was glorious and the grass in the yard was green, the flowers bright and pretty and the shadows of the tall lilac bushes by the back door of the little white house cool and inviting.

Barbara danced along the bluff edge, looking down at the dories and nets on the beach below.  Her mother sighed softly.

“It is lovely!” she said.  Then, turning to look at the little house, she added, “And it was your old home, I suppose.”

Jed nodded.  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.  “I was born in that house and lived there all my life up to five years ago.”

“And then you gave it up.  Why? . . .  Please forgive me.  I didn’t mean to be curious.”

“Oh, that’s all right, ma’am.  Nothin’ secret about it.  My mother died and I didn’t seem to care about livin’ there alone, that’s all.”