“But—­but, consarn it all, Hannah—­”

“Don’t swear, Kenelm.  Profanity won’t help you none.”

“I wa’n’t swearin’.  All I say is what’s the use of an umbrella if you can’t hist it in a storm?  I wouldn’t give a darn for a schooner load of ’em when ’twas fair weather.  I—­I cal’late I—­I left it somewheres.”

“I cal’late you did.  I’m goin’ over to the village this mornin’ and I’ll stop in at that clubhouse, myself.”

“I—­I don’t believe it’s at the clubhouse, Hannah.”

“You don’t?  Why don’t you?”

“I—­I don’t know.  I just guess it ain’t, that’s all.  Somethin’ seems to tell me ’tain’t.”

“Oh, it does, hey?  I want to know!  Hum!  Was you anywheres else last night?  Answer me the truth now, Kenelm Parker.  Was you anywheres else last night?”

“Anywheres else.  What do you mean by that?”

“I mean what I say.  You know what I mean well enough.  Was you—­well, was you callin’ on anybody?”

“Callin’ on anybody?  Callin’ on ’em?”

“Yes, callin’ on ’em.  Oh, you needn’t look so innocent and buttery!  You ain’t above it.  Ain’t I had experience?  Haven’t I been through it?  Didn’t you use to say that I, your sister that’s been a mother to you, was the only woman in this world for you, and then, the minute I was out of sight and hardly out of hearin’, you—­”

“My soul!  You’ve got Abbie Larkin in your head again, ain’t you?  It—­it—­I swear it’s a reg’lar disease with you, seems so.  Ain’t I told you I ain’t seen Abbie Larkin, nor her me, for the land knows how long?  And I don’t want to see her.  My time!  Do you suppose I waded and paddled a mile and a quarter down to call on Abbie Larkin a night like last night?  What do you think I am—­a bull frog?  I wouldn’t do it to see the—­the Queen of Rooshy.”

This vehement outburst seemed to have some effect.  Miss Parker’s tone was more conciliatory.

“Well, all right,” she said.  “I s’pose likely you didn’t call on her, if you say so, Kenelm.  I suppose I am a foolish, lone woman.  But, O Kenelm, I do think such a sight of you.  And you know you’ve got money and that Abbie Larkin is so worldly she’d marry you for it in a minute.  I didn’t know but you might have met her.”

“Met her!  Tut—­tut—­tut!  If that ain’t—­and in a typhoon like last night!  Oh, sartin, I met her!  I was up here on top of Meetin’-house Hill, larnin’ her to swim in the mud puddles.  You do talk so silly sometimes, Hannah.”

“Maybe I do,” with a sniff.  “Maybe I do, Kenelm, but you mean so much to me.  I just can’t let you go.”

“Go!  I ain’t goin’ nowheres, am I?  What kind of talk’s that?”

“And to think you’d heave away that umbrella—­the umbrella I gave you!  That’s what makes me feel so bad.  A nice, new, gilt-plated umbrella—­”

“I never hove it away.  I—­I—­well, I left it somewheres, I—­I cal’late.  I’ll go look for it after breakfast.  Say, when are we goin’ to have breakfast, anyhow?  It’s almost eight o’clock now.  Ain’t them women-folks ever goin’ to turn out?”