Of course Mrs. Armstrong still insisted that, knowing, as she did, Mr. Winslow’s prejudice against occupying the position of landlord, she could not think of accepting his offer.  “Of course I shall not,” she declared.  “I am flattered to know that you consider Barbara and me preferable to Mr. and Mrs. Powless; but even there you may be mistaken, and, beside, why should you feel you must endure the lesser evil.  If I were in your place I shouldn’t endure any evil at all.  I should keep the house closed and empty, just as you have been doing.”

Captain Sam shook his head impatiently.  “If you was in his place,” he observed, “you would have let it every year.  Don’t interfere with him, Mrs. Armstrong, for the land sakes.  He’s showed the first streak of common sense about that house that he’s showed since the Davidsons went out.  Don’t ask him to take it back.”

And Jed stubbornly refused to take it back.  “I’ve let it to you for a month, ma’am,” he insisted.  “It’s yours, furniture and all, for a month.  You won’t sell that Mrs. Powless any of it, will you?” he added, anxiously.  “Any of the furniture, I mean.”

Mrs. Armstrong scarcely knew whether to be amused or indignant.

“Of course I shouldn’t sell it,” she declared.  “It wouldn’t be mine to sell.”

Jed looked frightened.  “Yes, ’twould; yes, ’twould,” he persisted.  “That’s why I’m lettin’ it to you.  Then I can’t sell it to her; I can’t, don’t you see?”

Captain Sam grinned.  “Fur’s that goes,” he suggested, “I don’t see’s you’ve got to worry, Jed.  You don’t need to sell it, to her or anybody else, unless you want to.”

But Jed looked dubious.  “I suppose Jonah cal’lated he didn’t need to be swallowed,” he mused.  “You take it, ma’am, for a month, as a favor to me.”

“But how can I—­like this?  We haven’t even settled the question of rent.  And you know nothing whatever about me.”

He seemed to reflect.  Then he asked: 

“Your daughter don’t sing like a windmill, does she?”

Barbara’s eyes and mouth opened.  “Why, Mamma!” she exclaimed, indignantly.

“Hush, Babbie.  Sing like a—­what?  I don’t understand, Mr. Winslow.”

The captain burst out laughing.  “No wonder you don’t, ma’am,” he said.  “It takes the seven wise men of Greece to understand him most of the time.  You leave it to me, Mrs. Armstrong.  He and I will talk it over together and then you and he can talk to-morrow.  But I guess likely you’ll have the house, if you want it; Jed doesn’t go back on his word.  I always say that for you, don’t I, old sawdust?” turning to the gentleman thus nicknamed.

Jed, humming a mournful hymn, was apparently miles away in dreamland.  Yet he returned to earth long enough to indulge in a mild bit of repartee.  “You say ’most everything for me, Sam,” he drawled, “except when I talk in my sleep.”

Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara left a moment later, the lady saying that she and Mr. Winslow would have another interview next day.  Barbara gravely shook hands with both men.