Captain Shad was halfway to the door.  He answered over his shoulder.

“I’m goin’ home,” he vowed, “and when I get there I’m goin’ to choke that dummed tattle-tale of an Isaiah Chase!  I’ll talk to you after I’ve done it.”

Mary ran after him and caught his arm.

“Come back, Uncle Shad!” she ordered.  “Come back, sit down, and don’t be foolish.  I don’t want you to talk to me!  I am going to talk to you, and I’m not half through yet.  Besides, it wasn’t Isaiah who told me, it was Judge Baxter.”

“Judge Baxter!  Why, the everlastin’ old—­”

“Hush!  He couldn’t help telling me, I made him do it.  Be still, both of you, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She did tell them, beginning with her meeting with Mr. Green at the Howe dinner, then of her stop at Ostable and the interview with Baxter.

“So I have found it all out, you see,” she said.  “I’m not going to try to thank you—­I couldn’t, if I did try.  But I am going to take my turn at the work and the worry.  To begin with, of course, you understand that I am through with Boston and school, through forever.”

There was an excited and voluble protest, of course, but she paid no heed whatever to commands or entreaties.

“I am through,” she declared.  “I shall stay here and help you.  I am only a girl and I can’t do much, perhaps, but I truly believe I can do something.  I am a sort of silent partner now; you understand that, don’t you?”

Shadrach looked doubtful and anxious.

“If I had my way,” he declared, “you’d go straight back to that school and stay there long’s we could rake or scrape enough together to keep you there.  And I know Zoeth feels the same.”

“I sartin do,” agreed Zoeth.

Mary laughed softly.  “But you haven’t your way, you see,” she said.  “You have had it for ever so long and now I am going to have mine.  Your new silent partner is going to begin to boss you.”

For the first time since he entered the door of his store that night—­or morning—­Shadrach smiled.  It wasn’t a broad smile nor a very gay one, but it was a smile.

“Um—­ya-as,” he drawled.  “I want to know, Mary-’Gusta!  I am gettin’ some along in years, but my memory ain’t failed much.  If I could remember any day or hour or minute since Zoeth and me h’isted you into the old buggy to drive you from Ostable here—­if I could remember a minute of that time when you hadn’t bossed us, I—­well, I’d put it down in the log with a red ink circle around it.  No, sir-ee!  You’ve been our skipper from the start.”

Even Zoeth smiled now and Mary laughed aloud.

“But you haven’t objected; you haven’t minded being—­what shall I call it?—­skipped—­by me, have you?” she asked.

The Captain grinned.  “Mind it!” he exclaimed.  “Umph!  The only time when we really minded it was these last two years when we ain’t had it.  We minded missin’ it, that’s what we minded.”