“Oh, yes, sir, there’s lots.  I don’t take much room and Petunia almost always sits on my lap.  Please come.”

So Jed came and, sitting down upon the bench, looked off at the inlet and the beach and the ocean beyond.  It was the scene most familiar to him, one he had seen, under varying weather conditions, through many summers and winters.  This very thought was in his mind as he looked at it now.

After a time he became aware that his companion was speaking.

“Eh?” he ejaculated, coming out of his reverie.  “Did you say somethin’?”

“Yes, sir, three times.  I guess you were thinking, weren’t you?”

“Um-m—­yes, I shouldn’t be surprised.  It’s one of my bad habits, thinkin’ is.”

She looked hard to see if he was smiling, but he was not, and she accepted the statement as a serious one.

“Is thinking a bad habit?” she asked.  “I didn’t know it was.”

“Cal’late it must be.  If it wasn’t, more folks would do it.  Tell me, now,” he added, changing the subject to avoid further cross-questioning, “do you and your ma like it here?”

The answer was enthusiastic.  “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, “we like it ever and ever so much.  Mamma says it’s—­” Barbara hesitated, and then, after what was evidently a severe mental struggle, finished with, “she said once it was like paradise after category.”

“After—­which?”

The young lady frowned.  “It doesn’t seem to me,” she observed, slowly, “as if ‘category’ was what she said.  Does ‘category’ sound right to you, Mr. Winslow?”

Jed looked doubtful.  “I shouldn’t want to say that it did, right offhand like this,” he drawled.

“No-o.  I don’t believe it was ‘category.’  But I’m almost sure it was something about a cat, something a cat eats—­or does—­or something.  Mew—­mouse—­milk—­” she was wrinkling her forehead and repeating the words to herself when Mr. Winslow had an inspiration.

“’Twan’t purgatory, was it?” he suggested.

Miss Barbara’s head bobbed enthusiastically.  “Purr-gatory, that was it,” she declared.  “And it was something a cat does—­purr, you know; I knew it was.  Mamma said living here was paradise after purr-gatory.”

Jed rubbed his chin.

“I cal’late your ma didn’t care much for the board at Luretta Smalley’s,” he observed.  He couldn’t help thinking the remark an odd one to make to a child.

“Oh, I don’t think she meant Mrs. Smalley’s,” explained Barbara.  “She liked Mrs. Smalley’s pretty well, well as any one can like boarding, you know,” this last plainly another quotation.  “I think she meant she liked living here so much better than she did living in Middleford, where we used to be.”

“Hum,” was the only comment Jed made.  He was surprised, nevertheless.  Judged by what Captain Sam had told him, the Armstrong home at Middleford should have been a pleasant one.  Barbara rattled on.