Hannah’s face was a picture, a picture to be studied.  For the first time in her life she was at a loss for words.

“I ain’t askin’ no questions,” went on Kenelm calmly.  “I ain’t told nobody and I shan’t unless—­unless somebody keeps naggin’ and makes me mad.  But I shan’t change my clothes this day; and I shan’t do nothin’ else unless I feel like it, either.”

His sister stared at him blankly for a moment.  Then she fled from the room.  Kenelm took his pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and smoked, smiling between puffs at the ceiling.  The future looked serene and rosy—­to Kenelm.

Christmas dinner at the High Cliff House was a joyful affair, notwithstanding that the promise of fair weather had come to naught and it was raining once more.  John stayed for that dinner, so did Captain Obed.  The former and Miss Emily said very little and their appetites were not robust, but they appeared to be very happy indeed.  Georgie certainly was happy and Jedediah’s appetite was all that might have been expected of an appetite fed upon the cheapest of cheap food for days and compelled to go without any food for others.  Thankful was happy, too, or pretended to be, and Captain Obed laughed and joked with everyone.  Yet he seemed to have something on his mind, and his happiness was not as complete as it might have been.

Everyone helped Imogene wash the dishes; then John and Emily left the kitchen bound upon some mysterious errand.  Captain Obed and Georgie donned what the captain called “dirty weather rigs” and went out to give George Washington and Patrick Henry and the poultry their Christmas dinner.

The storm had flooded the low land behind the barn.  The hen yard was in the center of a miniature island.  The walls of the pigsty which Thankful had had built rose from a lake.

“It’s a mercy Pat moved to drier quarters, eh, second mate!” chuckled the captain.  “He’d have had to sleep with a life-preserver on if he stayed here.”

They fed the hens and gave George Washington a liberal measure of oats and a big forkful of hay.

“Don’t want him to go hungry Christmas Day,” said Captain Obed.  “Now let’s cruise around and see if Patrick Henry is singin’ out for liberty or death.”

The pig was not, apparently, “singing out” for anything.  When they reached the wall of the pen by the washshed he was not in sight.  But they heard him, somewhere back in the darkness beneath the shed, breathing stertorously, apparently sound asleep.

Georgie laughed.  “Hear him,” he said.  “He’s so fat he always makes that noise when he’s asleep.  And he’s awful smart.  When it’s warm and nice weather he sleeps out here in the sun.  When it rains and is cold, same as now, he always goes way back in there.  Hear him!  Don’t he make a funny noise.”

Emily came hurrying around the corner of the house.

“Captain Bangs,” she whispered.  “Captain Bangs!”