“His wife’s death broke Jethro dreadfully,” continued Martha.  “For six months or so he hardly spoke to anybody except Lulie.  Then some Spiritualist or other—­I think it was Ophelia Beebe or some rattlehead like her—­got him to go to see a medium who was boardin’ here at the Restabit Inn.  He got—­or thinks he got—­a communication direct from Julia—­his wife.  After that he kept goin’ to the Spiritualist camp meetin’s and to Boston and to mediums from Dan to Beersheba, so to speak.  A while ago one medium creature—­and I wish she had been struck dumb before she could say it—­told him that he must beware of a dark man who was tryin’ to work evil upon his daughter.  As luck would have it, Nelson Howard was home on leave and callin’ on Lulie when her father got back from seein’ that very medium.  You can imagine what happened.  And Jethro has been growin’ more rabid on the subject ever since.”

She stopped.  Her guest said nothing.  He was thinking that if he were to make the suggestion—­the proposition which he had determined upon before he came down to supper, he must make it soon.  And he did not know how to begin.

Martha went on talking.  She apparently did not notice his silence.  It was more as if she were thinking aloud.

“If it wasn’t for Lulie’s bein’ here,” she said, slowly, “I don’t know what I should do sometimes, I get so lonesome.  When father lived it was all so different.  He was bright and cheerful and he and I were just as if we were the same age, as you might say.  He never was cross and he didn’t fret and if he worried he didn’t let me know it.  He just loved this place.  It was near the salt water, and he loved that, and he had his garden and his hens and he was interested in town affairs and all.  We didn’t have much money, but we had enough, seemed so.  Before he died he told me he hoped he’d left me well enough off to get along.  ’The only thing that troubles me, Martha,’ he said, ’is that some of the things I’ve put money into shouldn’t turn out as I hoped.  I’ve tried to be careful, but you can’t always tell.  If you want advice,’ he said, ‘go to Jethro Hallett.  Jeth’s a shrewd business man.’  Ah, well, he didn’t know that the spirits were goin’ to run Cap’n Jeth.  About the last words he said to me, father, I mean, was, ’Martha, hang on to the old place if you can.  I hate to think of your sellin’ it.’  Of course I told him I never should sell it.”

“Well—­ah—­well—­” Galusha felt that he ought to say something, “you don’t intend selling it, do you, Miss Phipps?”

Martha did not answer immediately.  And when she did speak it was not a reply.

“You must think we’re a queer lot down here by the Bluffs, Mr. Bangs,” she said.  “Primmie—­you’ve seen what she is—­and Zach Bloomer and Cap’n Jethro with his ‘spirit revelations.’  As I say, if it wasn’t for Lulie I don’t know what I should do.  Get to be cracked myself, I presume likely. . . .  But there,” she added, brightening, “do let’s change the subject, for mercy sakes!  Mr. Bangs, what do you suppose I did when I was over at the light this afternoon?  Besides talkin’ with Lulie, I mean.”