“Why!  Why, Captain Obed!  How you do talk!  You don’t mean that Mr. Daniels is a cheat, do you?  You don’t mean such a thing as that?”

The captain waved a protesting hand.

“No, no,” he declared.  “I wouldn’t call any lawyer a cheat.  That’s too one-sided a deal to be good business.  The expense of hirin’ counsel is all on one side if it ever comes to a libel suit.  And besides, I don’t think Daniels is a cheat.  I never heard of him doin’ anything that wa’n’t legally honest.  He’s sharp and he’s smart, but he’s straight enough.  I was only jokin’, Mrs. Barnes.  Sometimes I think I ought to hang a lantern on my jokes; then folks would see ’em quicker.”

So Mr. Daniels came, and Mr. Hammond came, and so also did Miss Timpson.  The first dinner was served in the big dining-room and it was a success, everyone said so.  Beside the boarders there were invited guests, Captain Bangs and Hannah Parker, and Kenelm also.  It was a disappointment to Thankful, although she kept the disappointment to herself, the fact that the captain had not shifted what he called his “moorings” to her establishment.  She had hoped he might; she liked him and she believed him to be just the sort of boarder she most desired.  It may be that he, too, was disappointed.  What he said was: 

“You see, ma’am, I’ve been anchorin’ along with Hannah and Kenelm now for quite a spell.  They took me in when ’twas a choice between messin’ at the Holt place or eatin’ grass in the back yard like King Nebuchadnezzar.  Hannah don’t keep a reg’lar boardin’-house but she does sort of count on me as one of the family, and I don’t feel ’twould be right to shift—­not yet, anyhow.  But maybe I can pilot other craft into High Cliff Harbor, even if I don’t call it my own home port.”

That first dinner was a bountiful meal.  Miss Parker expressed the general opinion, although it was expressed in her own way, when she said: 

“My sakes alive, Mrs. Barnes!  If this is the way you’re goin’ to feed your boarders right along then I say it’s remarkable.  I’ve been up to Boston a good many times in my life, and I’ve been to Washington once, but in all my experience at high-toned hotels I never set down to a better meal.  It’s a regular Beelzebub’s feast, like the one in Scriptur’—­leavin’ out the writin’ on the wall of course.”

Kenelm ate enough for two and then, announcing that he couldn’t heave away no more time, having work to do, retired to the rear of the barn where, the rake beside him, he slumbered peacefully for an hour.

“There!” said Thankful to Imogene that night.  “We’ve started anyhow.  And ’twas a good start if I do say it.”

“Good!” exclaimed Imogene.  “I should say ’twas good!  But if them boarders eat as much every day as they have this one ’twon’t be a start, ’twill be a finish.  Lor—­I mean mercy on us, ma’am—­if this is a boardin’-house I’d like to know what a palace is.  Why a king never had better grub served to him.  Huh!  I guess he didn’t.  Old George Three used to eat gruel, like a—­like a sick orphan at the Home.  Oh, he did, ma’am, honest!  I read about it in one of them history books you lent me.  He was a tight-wad old gink, he was.  Are you goin’ to give these guys as much every meal, ma’am?”