“No, sir.  Seven.  Did you think I said seventy?”

“Eh?  No, I guess not.”

“I couldn’t be seventy.  If I was I’d be lots bigger, you know.”

“That’s so; I presume likely you would.”

More reflection.  Then:  “If I was seventy I guess you wouldn’t have asked me.”

“Sho!  Wouldn’t I?  Why not?”

“’Cause grown-up folks don’t like to be asked how old they are.  I asked Mrs. Hobbs how old she was once and she didn’t like it.”

“Didn’t she?”

“No, sir.  She told me to mind my own business.”

The Captain laughed aloud.  Then, turning to Mr. Hamilton, he said:  “Say, Zoeth, Isaiah’ll be a little mite surprised when he sees this craft make port, eh?”

Zoeth smiled.  “I shouldn’t wonder,” he replied.

“Um-hm.  I’d like to have a tintype of Isaiah’s face.  Well, sis—­er, Mary-’Gusta, I mean—­there’s South Harniss dead ahead.  How do you like the looks of it?”

They had emerged from a long stretch of woods and were at the summit of a little hill.  From the crest of this hill the road wound down past an old cemetery with gray, moss-covered slate tombstones, over a bridge between a creek and a good-sized pond, on through a clump of pines, where it joined the main highway along the south shore of the Cape.  This highway, in turn, wound and twisted—­there are few straight roads on Cape Cod—­between other and lower hills until it became a village street, the main street of South Harniss.  The sun was low in the west and its light bathed the clustered roofs in a warm glow, touched windows and vanes with fire, and twinkled and glittered on the waters of Nantucket Sound, which filled the whole southern horizon.  There was little breeze and the smoke from the chimneys rose almost straight.  So, too, did the smoke from the distant tugs and steamers.  There were two or three schooners far out, and nearer shore, a sailboat.  A pretty picture, one which artists have painted and summer visitors enthused over many times.

To Mary-’Gusta it was new and wonderful.  The child was in a mood to like almost anything just then.  Mrs. Hobbs was miles away and the memory of the music chair and her own disgrace and shame were but memories.  She drew a long breath and looked and looked.

“Like it, do you?” asked Zoeth, echoing his friend’s question.

Mary-’Gusta nodded.  “Yes, sir,” she said.  “It—­it’s lovely.”

Captain Shadrach nodded.  “Best town on earth, if I do say it,” he said, emphatically.  “So you think it’s lovely, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”  Then, pointing, she asked:  “Is that your house?”

The Captain grinned.  “Well, no, not exactly,” he said.  “That’s the town hall.  Nobody lives there but the selectmen and they ain’t permanent boarders—­that is, I have hopes some of ’em ‘ll move after town-meetin’ day.  Our house is over yonder, down nigh the shore.”