up and saw that the wraps were ready, and if Uncle Shad was caught wearing socks with holes in them he was scolded and supplied with fresh ones.  She selected the clothes they should wear and insisted that they black their boots on Sunday.  She helped them in the store and it became occasionally possible for them to leave that place of business at the same time without engaging the services of Annabel.  At first the partners, Captain Shadrach especially, protested against the supervision and the innovations, but Mary-’Gusta tactfully and diplomatically carried each point, and, after a time, the Captain ceased to protest and accepted the inevitable almost with meekness.

“No use, Zoeth,” he said on one occasion; “I’ve talked and talked but I’m wearin’ the necktie just the same.  I told her ’twas too good to wear weekdays and it ought to be saved for Sunday, but it ain’t Sunday and I’ve got it on.  She said ‘twas becomin’ and the one I’ve been wearin’ wasn’t and that she crocheted it for me and I don’t know what all.  So here I am.  Got so I ain’t even boss of my own neck.”

“Well, ’tis becomin’,” observed Zoeth.  “And she did crochet it for you.  I noticed you didn’t stop her tyin’ it on you even while you was vowin’ you wouldn’t wear it.”

Shadrach sighed.  “To think,” he groaned, “that I, Cap’n Shad Gould, a man that’s handled as many fo’mast hands as I have, should come to be led around by the nose by a slip of a girl!  By fire, I—­I can’t hardly believe it.  It’s disgraceful.”

Zoeth smiled.  “Oh, be still, Shadrach,” he said.  “You bear up under the disgrace as well as anybody ever I saw.  You know perfectly well you was tickled to death to have her tie that necktie on you.  You was grinnin’ like a Chessy cat all the time.”

“I wasn’t, neither.  I was chokin’, not grinnin’.  You don’t know a grin from a choke.”

Zoeth changed the subject.  “It’s a mighty pretty necktie,” he declared.  “There ain’t anybody in this town, unless it’s Philander Bearse’s wife, that can crochet any better’n that girl of ours.”

Shadrach snorted.  “What are you talkin’ about?” he demanded.  “Etta Bearse never saw the day she could crochet like that.  No, nor do anything else so well, either.  Look at the way our candy trade has picked up since Mary-’Gusta fixed up the showcase.  You cal’lated ’twas all right the way ’twas afore and thought ’twas foolish to change, but she changed it and—­well, we’ve sold a third again as much candy.”

Zoeth’s smile broadened.  “Seems as if I remember your sayin’ a few things about that showcase,” he remarked.  “You gave me fits for lettin’ her fuss with it.  Annabel was in t’other day and she said folks thought ‘twas queer enough our lettin’ a thirteen-year-old child run our store for us.”

“She did, eh?  She’s jealous, that’s what ails her.  And to think of her sayin’ it.  That Annabel’s all brass, like a ship’s spyglass.  By the jumpin’ Judas!  I’m proud of that showcase and I’m proud of Mary-’Gusta.  She don’t make many mistakes:  I can’t remember of her makin’ any.”