“What is it, father?” she asked.

Jethro hesitated.  He passed a hand across his forehead.  His head felt tired.  Somehow he didn’t want to talk any more.  Even as important a topic as Nelson Howard did not arouse his interest.

“Oh, nothin’, nothin’,” he assured.  “Cal’late maybe I’ll lay down and turn in a little spell afore dinner.  Is Zach on deck?”

“Yes, he is out in the kitchen, or was a minute ago.  Primmie was over on an errand and I heard their tongues going.  Shall I speak to Zach, father?”

He told her no, and went into the house.  There was a couch in the dining room and he stretched himself upon it.  The head of the couch was near the door leading to the kitchen.  That door was closed, but from behind it sounded voices, voices which were audible and distinct.  A dispute seemed to be in progress between Mr. Bloomer and Miss Cash and, although Zacheus continued to grumble on in an even key, Primmie’s tone became higher and shriller with each retort.

“I tell you ’tis so, Zach Bloomer. . . .  Well, maybe ’twan’t a hundred and fifty thousand, but I bet you ’twas more money than you ever see in your life.  So now!”

The assistant light keeper was heard to cough.  Primmie seemed to discern a hint of skepticism even in the cough.

“Oh, you can set there and keep on turnin’ up your nose and—­and coughin’,” she declared, “but—­”

Zacheus interrupted to say that he hardly ever turned up his nose when he coughed.

“Seems to come handier to turn it down, Posy,” he said.

“Oh, be still, foolish!  Well, anyhow, it’s true, every word of it.  I see more money at one time and in one—­er—­er junk, as you might say, than ever I see afore—­yes, or I bet you ever see neither, Zach Bloomer.”

“We-ll, course what I ever see never amounted to much, but if it’s more than you see, Rosebud, then it must have been consider’ble of a lot.  Over in them Mashpaug woods, where you hail from, money kind of grows on the bushes, like huckleberries, I presume likely.  Martha Phipps been over there berryin’, has she?”

“No, she ain’t.  Besides, I never said Miss Martha brought the money into the house.  All’s I said was that ’twas in there and I see it with my own eyes.”

“Sho!  With your own eyes, eh?  Well, well!  What do you cal’late ’twould have looked like if you’d borrered somebody else’s eyes?  Say, Posy, was it you fetched the billion and a half, or whatever ’twas, into the house?”

“Me?  Me with all that money?  My savin’ soul!”

“Well, who did fetch it?  Santy Claus?”

“I sha’n’t tell you.  I promised Miss Martha I wouldn’t tell one word about that money and I ain’t goin’ to.”

“Hooray, Posy!  That’s the way to talk!  Well, now, be honest about it:  What did you have for supper night afore last?  Mince pie, was it?  Why didn’t you eat another slice?  Then you’d have dreamed about a mackerel keg full of di’monds, most likely.”