And, in spite of his grumbling, he and Mary-’Gusta were rapidly becoming fast friends.  Shadrach and Zoeth also were beginning to enjoy her company, her unexpected questions, her interest in the house and the store, and shrewd, old-fashioned comments on persons and things.  She was a “queer young-one”; they, like the people of Ostable, agreed on that point, but Mr. Hamilton was inclined to think her ways “sort of takin’” and the Captain admitted that maybe they were.  What he would not admit was that the girl’s visit, although already prolonged for a fortnight, was anything but a visit.

“I presume likely,” hinted Zoeth, “you and me’ll have to give the Judge some sort of an answer pretty soon, won’t we?  He’ll be wantin’ to know afore long.”

“Know?  Know what?”

“Why—­why whether we’re goin’ to say yes or no to what Marcellus asked us in that letter.”

“He does know.  Fur’s I’m consarned, he knows.  I spoke my mind plain enough to pound through anybody’s skull, I should think.”

“Yes—­yes, I know you did.  But, Shadrach, if she don’t stay here for good where will she stay?  She ain’t got anybody else to go to.”

“She is stayin’, ain’t she?  She—­she’s makin’ us a visit, same as I said she could.  What more do you want?  Jumpin’ fire!  This fix is your doin’ anyway.  ’Tain’t mine.  If you had paid attention to what I said, the child wouldn’t have been here at all.”

“Now, Shadrach!  You know you was the one that would fetch her over that very day.”

“Oh, blame it onto me, of course!”

“I ain’t blamin’ anybody.  But she’s here and we’ve got to decide whether to send her away or not.  Shall we?”

They were interrupted by Mary-’Gusta herself, who entered the barn, where the discussion took place, a doll under one arm and a very serious expression on her face.

“Hello!” hailed Zoeth.  “What’s the matter?”

Mary-’Gusta seated herself upon an empty cranberry crate.  The partners had a joint interest in a small cranberry bog and the crate was one of several unused the previous fall.

“There’s nothin’ the matter,” she said, solemnly.  “I’ve been thinkin’, that’s all.”

“Want to know!” observed the Captain.  “Well, what made you do anything as risky as that?”

Mary-’Gusta’s forehead puckered.

“I was playin’ with Jimmie Bacheldor yesterday,” she said, “and he made me think.”

Abner Bacheldor was the nearest neighbor.  His ramshackle dwelling was an eighth of a mile from the Gould-Hamilton place.  Abner had the reputation of being the meanest man in town; also he had a large family, of which Jimmie, eight years old, was the youngest.

“Humph!” sniffed Captain Shad.  “So Jimmie Bacheldor made you think, eh?  I never should have expected it from one of that tribe.  How’d he do it?”

“He asked me about my relations,” said Mary-’Gusta, “and when I said I hadn’t got any he was awful surprised.  He has ever so many, sisters and brothers and aunts and cousins and—­Oh, everything.  He thought ’twas dreadful funny my not havin’ any.  I think I’d ought to have some, don’t you?”