“I and Petunia hope awfully that we are going to live here, Mr. Winslow,” she said, “’specially Petunia.”

Jed regarded her gravely.  “Oh, she wants to more’n you do, then, does she?” he asked.

The child looked doubtful.  “No-o,” she admitted, after a moment’s reflection, “but she can’t talk, you know, and so she has to hope twice as hard else I wouldn’t know it.  Good-by.  Oh, I forgot; Captain Hedge liked his swordfish ever so much.  He said it was a—­ a—­oh, yes, humdinger.”

She trotted off after her mother.  Captain Hunniwell, after a chuckle of appreciation over the “humdinger,” began to tell his friend what little he had learned concerning the Armstrongs.  This was, of course, merely what Mrs. Armstrong herself had told him and amounted to this:  She was a widow whose husband had been a physician in Middleford, Connecticut.  His name was Seymour Armstrong and he had now been dead four years.  Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara, the latter an only child, had continued to occupy the house at Middleford, but recently the lady had come to feel that she could not afford to live there longer, but must find some less expensive quarters.

“She didn’t say so,” volunteered Captain Sam, “but I judge she lost a good deal of her money, bad investments or somethin’ like that.  If there’s any bad investment anywheres in the neighborhood you can ’most generally trust a widow to hunt it up and put her insurance money into it.  Anyhow, ‘twas somethin’ like that, for after livin’ there a spell, just as she did when her husband was alive, she all at once decides to up anchor and find some cheaper moorin’s.  First off, though, she decided to spend the summer in a cool place and some friend, somebody with good, sound judgment, suggests Orham.  So she lets her own place in Middleford, comes to Orham, falls in love with the place—­same as any sensible person would naturally, of course—­and, havin’ spent ’most three months here, decides she wants to spend nine more anyhow.  She comes to the bank to cash a check, she and I get talkin’, she tells me what she’s lookin’ for, I tell her I cal’late I’ve got a place in my eye that I think might be just the thing, and—­”

He paused to bite the end from a cigar.  His friend finished the sentence for him.

“And then,” he said, “you, knowin’ that I didn’t want to let this house any time to anybody, naturally sent her down to look at it.”

“No such thing.  Course I knew that you’d ought to let the house and, likin’ the looks and ways of these Armstrong folks first rate, I give in that I had made up my mind to send her down to look at it.  But, afore I could do it, the Almighty sent her on His own hook.  Which proves,” he added, with a grin, “that my judgment has pretty good backin’ sometimes.”

Jed rubbed his chin.  “Careful, Sam,” he drawled, “careful.  The Kaiser’ll be gettin’ jealous of you if you don’t look out.  But what,” he inquired, “made her and the little girl move out of Middleford, or wherever ’twas they lived?  They could have found cheaper quarters there, couldn’t they?  Course I ain’t never been there, but seems as if they could.”