What Thankful thought of it was evidenced by the manner in which she received the news. She did not say much, then, but the expression of relief and delight upon her face was indication sufficient. She did ask a number of questions: Why had Emily come then, so long before her school closed? How was it that she could leave her teaching? Why hadn't she written? And many others.

Miss Howes answered the questions one after the other. She had come in May because she found that she could come.

“I meant to come the very first moment it was possible for me to do so,” she said. “I have been more interested in this new project of yours, Auntie, than anything else in the world. You knew that; I told you so before I left and I have written it many times since. I came now because—well, because—you mustn't be alarmed, Auntie; there is nothing to be frightened about—but the school committee seemed to feel that I needed a change and rest. They seemed to think that I was not as well as I should be, that I was tired, was wearing myself out; that is the way they expressed it. It was absurd, of course, I am perfectly well. But when they came to me and told me that they had decided to give me a vacation, with pay, until next fall, and even longer if I felt that I needed it, you may be sure I didn't refuse their kind offer. I thanked them and said yes before they could have changed their minds, even if they had wished to. They said I should go into the country. That was just where I wanted to go, and so here I am, IN the country. Aren't you glad?”

“Glad! Don't talk! But, Emily, if you ain't well, don't you think—”

“I am well. Don't say another word about that. And, Oh, the things I mean to do to help you, Aunt Thankful!”

“Help me! Indeed you won't! You'll rest and get strong again, that's what you'll do. I don't need any help.”

“Oh, yes, you do. I know it.”

“How do you know?”

For just an instant Emily glanced at Captain Bangs. The captain's face expressed alarm and embarrassment. He was standing where Mrs. Barnes could not see him and he shook his head warningly. Miss Howes' eyes twinkled, but she did not smile.

“Oh, I knew!” she repeated.

“But HOW did you know? I never wrote you such a thing, sartin.”

“Of course you didn't. But I knew because—well, just because. Everyone who takes boarders needs help. It's a—it's a chronic condition. Now, Auntie, don't you think you could find some supper for me? Not much, but just a little. For an invalid ordered to the country I am awfully hungry.”

That was enough for Thankful. She seized her cousin by the arm and hurried her into the dining-room. A few moments later she reappeared to order Miss Howes' trunk carried upstairs to the “blue room.”

“You'll have to excuse me, folks,” she said, addressing her guests. “I know I didn't introduce you to Emily. I was so flustered and—and tickled to see her that I forgot everything, manners and all. Soon's she's had a bite to eat I'll try to make up. You'll forgive me, won't you?”

When she had gone Captain Obed was bombarded with questions. Who was the young lady? Where did she come from? If she was only a cousin, why did she call Mrs. Barnes “Auntie”? And many others.

Captain Obed answered as best he could.

“She's real pretty, isn't she,” affirmed Miss Timpson. “I don't know when I've seen a prettier woman. Such eyes! And such hair! Ah hum! When I was her age folks used to tell me I had real wonderful hair. You remember that, don't you, Mr. Hammond?”

Mr. Hammond chuckled. “I remember lots of things,” he observed diplomatically.

“You think she's pretty, don't you, Mr. Daniels?” persisted Miss Timpson.

East Wellmouth's legal light bowed assent. “A—ahem—a very striking young lady,” he said with dignity. He had scarcely taken his eyes from the newcomer while she was in the room. John Kendrick said nothing.

When Emily and Thankful returned to the living-room there were introductions and handshakings. And, following these, a general conversation lasting until ten o'clock. Then Miss Howes excused herself, saying that she was a bit tired, bade them all good night and went to her room.

Captain Obed left soon afterward.

“Well, John,” he said to his friend, as they stood together on the front step, “what do you think of this for a boardin'-house? All I prophesied, ain't it?”

Kendrick nodded. “All that, and more,” he answered, emphatically.

“Like Mrs. Barnes, don't you?”

“Very much. No one could help liking her.”

“Um-hm. Well, I told you that, too. And her niece—cousin, I mean—is just as nice as she is. You'll like her, too, when you know her. . . . Eh?”

“I didn't speak, Captain.”

“Oh, didn't you? Well, it's high time for me to be headin' for home. Hannah'll be soundin' the foghorn for me pretty soon. She'll think I'VE been tagged by Abbie Larkin if I don't hurry up and report. See you in the mornin', John. Good night.”

The next forenoon he was on hand, bright and early, and he and Kendrick went over to the village on another tour of inspection. Captain Obed was extremely curious to know whether or not his friend had made up his mind to remain in East Wellmouth, but, as the young man himself did not volunteer the information, the captain asked no questions. They walked up and down the main road until dinner time. John said very little, and was evidently thinking hard. Just before twelve Captain Bangs did ask a question, his first one.

“Well, John,” he said, looking up at the clock in the steeple of the Methodist Church, “it's about time for us to be thinkin' about takin' in cargo. Where shall we eat this noon? At the High Cliff again, or do you want to tackle Darius Holt's? Course you understand I'm game for 'most anything if you say so, and 'most anything's what we're liable to get at that Holt shebang. I don't want you to think I've got any personal grudge. When it comes to that I'm—ho! ho!—well, I'm a good deal in the frame of mind Kenelm Parker was at the revival meetin' some year ago. Kenelm just happened in and took one of the back seats. The minister—he was a stranger in town—was walkin' up and down the aisles tryin' to influence the mourners to come forward. He crept up on Kenelm from behind, when he wa'n't expected, and says he, 'Brother,' he says, 'do you love the Lord?' Kenelm was some took by surprise and his wits was in the next county, I cal'late. 'Why—why—' he stammers. 'I ain't got nothin' AG'IN' Him.' Ho! ho! That's the way I feel about Darius Holt. I don't love his hotel, but I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him. What do you say?”

Kendrick hesitated.

“The Holt board is cheaper, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yup. It costs less and it's wuth it.”

“Humph! Well—well, I guess we may as well go back to the High Cliff House.”

Captain Obed was much surprised, but he said nothing.

At dinner there was a sprightly air of cheerfulness and desire to please among the boarders. Everyone talked a good deal and most of the remarks were addressed to Miss Howes, who sat at the foot of the table, opposite her cousin. Thankful noticed the change and marveled at it. Dinners had hitherto been rather hurried and silent affairs. Miss Timpson usually rushed through the meal in order to get back to her school. Mr. Daniels' habit was to fidget when Imogene delayed serving a course, to look at his watch and hint concerning important legal business which needed prompt attention. Caleb Hammond's conversation too often was confined to a range bordered by rheumatism on the one hand and bronchitis on the other.

Now all this was changed. No one seemed in a hurry, no one appeared to care what the time might be, and no one grumbled. Mr. Daniels was particularly affable and gracious; he even condescended to joke. He was wearing his best and newest suit and his tie was carefully arranged. Emily was in high spirits, laughed at the jokes, whether they were new or old, and seemed to be very happy. She had been for a walk along the bluff, and the sea breeze had crimsoned her cheeks and blown her hair about. She apologized for the disarrangement of the hair, but even Miss Timpson—her own tresses as smooth as the back of a haircloth sofa—declared the effect to be “real becomin'.” Heman Daniels, who, being a bachelor, was reported to be very particular in such matters, heartily concurred in this statement. Mr. Hammond said it reminded him some of Laviny Marthy's hair. “Laviny Marthy was my wife that was,” he added, by way of explanation. John Kendrick said very little; in fact, he was noticeably silent during dinner. Miss Timpson said afterward: “That Mr. Kendrick isn't much of a talker, is he? I guess he's what they call a good listener, for he seemed to be real interested, especially when Miss Howes was talkin'. He'd look at her and look at her, and time and time again I thought he was goin' to say somethin', but he didn't.”

He was not talkative when alone with Captain Obed that afternoon. They paid one more visit to the building “opposite the postoffice” and while there he asked a few questions concerning the rent. The figure named by the captain was a low one and John seemed to think it too low. “I'm not asking charity,” he declared. “At least you might charge me enough to pay for the paint I may rub off when I open the door.”

But Captain Obed obstinately refused to raise his figure. “I've charged enough to risk what paint there is,” he announced. “If I charged more I'd feel as if I had to paint fresh, and I don't want to do that. What's the matter with you, John? Want to heave your money away, do you? Better keep the odd change to buy cigars. You can heave them away, if you want to—and you won't be liable to hit many lawyers neither.”

At supper time as they stood by the gate of the High Cliff House the captain, who was to eat at his regular boarding-place, the Parkers', that evening, ventured to ask the question he had been so anxious to ask.

“Well, John?” he began.

“Well, Captain?”

“Have you—have you made up your mind yet?”

Kendrick turned over, with his foot, a stone in the path.

“I—” he paused and turned the stone back again. Then he drew a long breath. “I must make it up,” he said, “and I can do it as well now as a week later, I suppose. Wherever I go there will be a risk, a big risk. Captain Bangs, I'll take that risk here. If you are willing to let me have that office of yours for six months at the figure you have named—and I think you are crazy to do it—I will send for my trunk and my furniture and begin to—look out of the window.”

Captain Obed was delighted. “Shake, John,” he exclaimed. “I'm tickled to death. And I'll tell you this: If you can't get a client no other way I'll—I'll break into the meetin'-house and steal a pew or somethin'. Then you can defend me. Eh . . . And now what about a place for you to eat and sleep?” he added, after a moment.

The young man seemed to find the question as hard to answer as the other.

“I like it here,” he admitted. “I like it very much indeed. But I must economize and the few hundred dollars I have scraped together won't—”

He was interrupted. Emily Howes appeared at the corner of the house behind them.

“Supper is ready,” she called cheerfully.

Both men turned to look at her. She was bareheaded and the western sun made her profile a dainty silhouette, a silhouette framed in the spun gold of her hair.

“John's comin', Miss Emily,” answered the captain. “He'll be right there.”

Emily waved her hand and hurried back to the dining-room door. Mr. Kendrick kicked the stone into the grass.

“I think I may as well remain here, for the present at least,” he said. “After all, there is such a thing as being too economical. A chap can't always make a martyr of himself, even if he knows he should.”

The next morning Mrs. Barnes, over at the village on a marketing expedition, met Captain Bangs on his way to the postoffice.

“Oh, Cap'n,” she said, “I've got somethin' to tell you. 'Tain't bad news this time; it's good. Mr. Heman Daniels has changed his mind. He's goin' to keep his room and board with me just as he's been doin'. Isn't that splendid!”

The sewing circles and the club and the noon and evening groups at the postoffice had two new subjects for verbal dissection during the next fortnight. This was, in its way, a sort of special Providence, for this was the dull season, when there were no more wrecks alongshore or schooners aground on the bars, and the boarders and cottagers from the cities had not yet come to East Wellmouth. Also the opening of the High Cliff House was getting to be a worn-out topic. So Emily Howes, her appearance and behavior, and John Kendrick, HIS behavior and his astonishing recklessness in attempting to wrest a portion of the county law practice from Heman Daniels, were welcomed as dispensations and discussed with gusto.

Emily came through the gossip mill ground fine, but with surprisingly little chaff. She was “pretty as a picture,” all the males agreed upon that point. And even the females admitted that she was “kind of good-lookin',” although Hannah Parker's diagnosis that she was “declined to be consumptic” and Mrs. Larkin's that she was older than she “made out to be,” had some adherents. All agreed, however, that she knew how to run a boarding-house and that she was destined to be the “salvation” of Thankful Barnes' venture at the Cap'n Abner place.

Certainly she did prove herself to possess marked ability as a business manager. Quietly, and without undue assertion, she reorganized the affairs of the High Cliff House. No one detected any difference in the quality of the meals served there, in their variety or ample sufficiency. But, little by little, she took upon herself the buying of supplies, the regulation of accounts, the prompt payment of bills and the equally prompt collection of board and room rent. Thankful found the cares upon her shoulders less and less heavy, and she was more free to do what she was so capable of doing, that is, superintend the cooking and the housekeeping.

But Thankful herself was puzzled.

“I don't understand it,” she said. “I've always had to look out for myself, and others, too. There ain't been a minute since I can remember that I ain't had somebody dependent upon me. I cal'lated I could run a boardin'-house if I couldn't do anything else. But I'm just as sure as I am that I'm alive that if you hadn't come when you did I'd have run this one into the ground and myself into the poorhouse. I don't understand it.”

Emily smiled and put her arm about her cousin's waist. “Oh, no, you wouldn't, Auntie,” she said. “It wasn't as bad as that. You needed help, that was all. And you are too generous and kind-hearted. You were always fearful that your boarders might not be satisfied. I have been teaching bookkeeping and accounting, you see, and, besides, I have lived in a family where the principal struggle was to satisfy the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker. This is real fun compared to that.”

Thankful shook her head.

“I know,” she said; “you always talk that way, Emily. But I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick. You come down here purpose for your health, you know.”

Emily laughed and patted Mrs. Barnes' plump shoulder.

“Health!” she repeated. “Why, I have never been as well since I can remember. I couldn't be sick here, in this wonderful place, if I tried. Do you think I look ill? . . . Oh, Mr. Daniels!” addressing the lawyer, who had just entered the dining-room, “I want your opinion, as a—a specialist. Auntie is afraid I am ill. Don't you think I look about as well as anyone could look?”

Heman bowed. “If my poor opinion is worth anything,” he observed, “I should say that to find fault with your appearance, Miss Howes, would be like venturing to—er—-paint the lily, as the saying is. I might say more, but—ahem—perhaps I had better not.”

Judging by the young lady's expression he had said quite enough already.

“Idiot!” she exclaimed, after he had left the room. “I ask him a sensible question and he thinks it necessary to answer with a silly compliment. Thought I was fishing for one, probably. Why will men be such fools—some men?”

Mr. Daniels' opinion concerning his professional rival was asked a good many times during that first fortnight. He treated the subject as he did the rival, with condescending toleration. It was quite plain that he considered his own position too secure to be shaken. In fact, his feeling toward John Kendrick seemed to be a sort of kindly pity.

“He appears to be a very well-meaning young man,” he said, in reply to one of the questions. “Rash, of course; very young men are likely to be rash—and perhaps more hopeful than some of us older and—ahem—wiser persons might be under the same circumstances. But he is well-meaning and persevering. I have no doubt he will manage to pick up a few crumbs, here and there. I may be able to throw a few in his way. There are always cases—ah—which I can't—or don't wish to—accept.”

When this remark was repeated to Captain Obed the latter sniffed.

“Humph!” he observed, “I don't know what they are. I never see a case Heman wouldn't accept, if there was as much as seventy-five cents in it. If bananas was a nickel a bunch the only part he'd throw in anybody else's way would be the skins.”

John, himself, did not seem to mind or care what Mr. Daniels or anyone else said. He wrote a letter to New York and, in the course of time, a second-hand desk, a few chairs, and half a dozen cases of law books arrived by freight and were installed in the ex-barber-shop. The local sign-painter perpetrated a sign with “John Kendrick, Attorney-at-law” upon it in gilt letters, and the “looking out of the window” really began.

And that was about all that did begin for days and days. Each morning or afternoon, Sundays excepted, Captain Bangs would drop in at the office and find no one there, no one but the tenant, that is. The latter, seated behind the desk, with a big sheepskin-bound volume spread open upon it, was always glad to see his visitor. Their conversations were characteristic.

“Hello, John!” the captain would begin. “How are the clients comin'?”

“Don't know, Captain. None of them has as yet got near enough so that I could see how he comes.”

“Humph! I want to know. Mr. John D. Jacob Vanderbilt ain't cruised in from Newport to put his affairs in your hands? Sho'! He's pretty short-sighted, ain't he?”

“Very. He's losing valuable time.”

“Well, I expected better things of him, I must say. Ain't gettin' discouraged, are you, John?”

“No, indeed. If there was much discouragement in my make-up I should have stopped before I began. How is the fish business, Captain?”

“Well, 'tain't what it ought to be this season of the year. Say, John, couldn't you subpoena a school of mackerel for me? Serve an order of the court on them to come into my weirs and answer for their sins, or somethin' like that? I'd be willin' to pay you a fairly good fee.”

On one occasion the visitor asked his friend what he found to do all the long days. “Don't study law ALL the time, do you, John?” he queried.

Kendrick shook his head. “No,” he answered, gravely. “Between studies I enjoy the view. Magnificent view from this window, don't you think?”

Captain Obed inspected the “view.” The principal feature in the landscape was Dr. Jameson's cow, pastured in the vacant lot between the doctor's home and the postoffice.

“Very fine cow, that,” commented the lawyer. “An inspiring creature. I spend hours looking at that cow. She is a comfort to my philosophic soul.”

The captain observed that he wanted to know.

“Yes,” continued Kendrick. “She is happy; you can see that she is happy. Now why?”

“'Cause she's eatin' grass,” declared Captain Obed, promptly.

“That's it. Good for you! You have a philosophic soul yourself, Captain. She is happy because she has nothing to do but eat, and there is plenty to eat. That's my case exactly. I have nothing to do except eat, and at Mrs. Barnes' boarding-house there is always enough, and more than enough, to eat. The cow is happy and I ought to be, I suppose. If MY food was furnished free of cost I should be, I presume.”

Kenelm Parker heard a conversation like the foregoing on one occasion and left the office rubbing his forehead.

“There's two lunatics in that place,” he told the postmaster. “And if I'd stayed there much longer and listened to their ravin's there'd have been another one.”

Kenelm seemed unusually contented and happy in his capacity as man-of-all-work at the High Cliff House. Possibly the fact that there was so very little real work to do may have helped to keep him in this frame of mind. He had always the appearance of being very busy; a rake or a hoe or the kindling hatchet were seldom out of reach of his hand. He talked a great deal about being “beat out,” and of the care and responsibility which were his. Most of these remarks were addressed to Imogene, to whom he had apparently taken a great fancy.

Imogene was divided in her feelings toward Mr. Parker.

“He's an awful interestin' talker,” she confided to Emily. “Every time he comes into this kitchen I have to watch out or he'll stay and talk till noontime. And yet if I want to get him to do somethin' or other he is always chock full of business that can't wait a minute. I like to hear him talk—he's got ideas on 'most every kind of thing—but I have to work, myself.”

“Do you mean that he doesn't work?” asked Emily.

“I don't know whether he does or not. I can't make out. If he don't he's an awful good make-believe, that's all I've got to say. One time I caught him back of the woodpile sound asleep, but he was hanging onto the axe just the same. Said he set up half the night before worryin' for fear he mightn't be able to get through his next day's work, and the want of rest had been too much for him. Then he started in to tell me about his home life and I listened for ten minutes before I come to enough to get back to the house.”

“Do you think he is lazy, Imogene?”

“I don't know. He says he never had no chance and it might be that's so. He says the ambition's been pretty well drove out of him, and I guess it has. I should think 'twould be. The way that sister of his nags at him all the time is enough to drive out the—the measles.”

Imogene and Hannah Parker, as Captain Obed said, “rubbed each other the wrong way.” Hannah was continually calling to see her brother, probably to make sure that he was there and not in the dangerous Larkin neighborhood. Imogene resented these visits—“usin' up Mrs. Thankful's time,” she said they were—and she and Hannah had some amusing clashes. Miss Parker was inclined to patronize the girl from the Orphan's Home, and Imogene objected.

“Well,” observed Hannah, on one occasion, “I presume likely you find it nice to be down here, where folks are folks and not just 'inmates.' It must be dreadful to be an 'inmate.'”

Imogene sniffed. “There's all kinds of inmates,” she said, “same as there's all kinds of folks. Far's that goes, there's some folks couldn't be an inmate, if they wanted to. They wouldn't be let in.”

“Oh, is that so? Judgin' by what I've seen I shouldn't have thought them that run such places was very particular. Where's Kenelm?”

“I don't know. He's to work, I suppose. That's what he's hired for, they tell me.”

“Oh, indeed! Well,” with emphasis, “he doesn't have to work, unless he wants to. My brother has money of his own, enough to subside on comf'tably, if he wanted to do it. His comin' here is just to accommodate Mrs. Barnes, that's all. Where is he?”

“Last I saw of him he was accommodatin' the horse stall. He may be uptown by this time, for all I know.”

“Uptown?” in alarm. “What would he be uptown for? He ain't got any business there, has he?”

“Search ME. Good many guys—folks, I mean—seem to be always hangin' 'round where they haven't business. Well, I've got some of my own and I guess I'd better attend to it. Good mornin', ma'am.”

Miss Howes cautioned Imogene against arousing the Parkers' enmity.

“Lordy! I mean mercy sakes, ma'am,” exclaimed Imogene, “you needn't be afraid so far as Kenelm's concerned. I do boss him around some, when I think it's needful, but it ain't my bossin' that worries him, it's that Hannah woman's. He says she's at him all the time. Don't give him the peace of his life, he says. He's a misunderstood man, he tells me. Maybe he is; there are such, you know. I've read about 'em in stories.”

Emily smiled. “Well,” she said, “I wouldn't drive him too hard, if I were you, Imogene. He isn't the hardest worker in the world, but he does do some work, and men who can be hired to work about a place in summer are scarce here in East Wellmouth. You must be patient with him.”

“Lor—land sakes! I am. But he does make me cross. He'd be settin' in my kitchen every evenin' if I'd let him. Don't seem to want to go home. I don't know's I blame him for that. You think I ought to let him set, I suppose, Miss Howes?”

“Why, yes, if he doesn't annoy you too much. We must keep him contented. You must sacrifice your own feelings to help Aunt Thankful. You would be willing to make some sacrifice for her, wouldn't you?”

“You bet your life I would! She's the best woman on earth, Mrs. Barnes is. I'd do anything for her, sacrifice my head, if that was worth five cents to anybody. All right, he can set if he wants to. I—I suppose I might improve his mind, hey, ma'am? By readin' to him, I mean. Mrs. Thankful, she's been givin' me books to improve my mind; perhaps they'd improve his if I read 'em out loud to him. His sister prob'ly won't like it, but I don't care. You couldn't improve HER mind; she ain't got any. It all run off the end of her tongue long ago.”

By the Fourth of July the High Cliff House was filled with boarders. Every room was taken, even the little back bedroom and the big room adjoining it. These were taken by a young couple from Worcester and, if they heard any unusual noises in their apartment, they did not mention them. Thankful's dread of that little room had entirely disappeared. She was now thoroughly convinced that her imagination and the storm were responsible for the “spooks.”

John Kendrick continued to sleep and eat at the new boarding-house. He was a general favorite there, although rather silent and disinclined to take an active part in the conversation at table. He talked more with Emily Howes than with anyone and she and he were becoming very friendly. Emily, Thankful and Captain Obed Bangs were the only real friends the young man had; he might have had more, but he did not seem to care for them. With these three, however, and particularly with Emily, he was even confidential, speaking of his professional affairs and prospects, subjects which he never mentioned to others.

These—the prospects—were brighter than at first. He had accepted one case and refused another. The refusal came as a surprise to East Wellmouth and caused much comment. Mr. Chris Badger was a passenger on the train from Boston and that train ran off the track at Buzzard's Bay. No one was seriously hurt except Mr. Badger. The latter gentleman purchased a pair of crutches and limped about on them, proclaiming himself a cripple for life. He and Heman Daniels had had a disagreement over a business matter so Chris took his damage suit against the railroad to John Kendrick. And John refused it.

Captain Obed, much disturbed, questioned his friend.

“Land of love, John!” he said. “Here you've been roostin' here, lookin' out of this window and prayin' for a job to come along. Now one does come along and you turn it down. Why?”

Kendrick laughed. “I'm cursed with a strong sense of contrast, Captain,” he replied. “Those crutches are too straight for me.”

The captain stared. “Straight!” he repeated. “All crutches are straight, ain't they?”

“Possibly; but some cripples are crooked.”

So it was to Mr. Daniels, after all, that the damage suit came, and Heman brought about a three-hundred-dollar settlement. Most of East Wellmouth pronounced Kendrick “too pesky particular,” but in some quarters, and these not by any means the least influential, his attitude gained approval and respect. This feeling was strengthened by his taking Edgar Wingate's suit against that same railroad. Edgar's woodlot was set on fire by sparks from the locomotive and John forced payment, and liberal payment, for the damage. Other cases, small ones, began to come his way. Lawyer Daniels had enemies in the community who had been waiting to take their legal affairs elsewhere.

Heman still professed entire indifference, but he no longer patronized his rival. John had a quiet way of squelching such patronage and of turning the laugh, which was annoying to a person lacking a sense of humor. And then, too, it was quite evident that Emily Howes' liking for the younger man displeased Daniels greatly. Heman liked Emily, seemed to like her very much indeed. On one or two occasions he had taken her to ride behind his fast horse, and he often brought bouquets and fruit, “given me by my clients and friends,” he explained. “One can't refuse little gifts like that, but it is a comfort, to a bachelor like me, to be able to hand them on—hand them on—yes.”

The first of August brought a new sensation and a new resident to East Wellmouth. The big Colfax estate was sold and the buyer was no less a personage than E. Holliday Kendrick, John Kendrick's aristocratic Fifth Avenue cousin. His coming was as great a surprise to John as to the rest of the community, but he seemed much less excited over it. The purchase was quietly completed and, one pleasant morning, the great E. Holliday himself appeared in East Wellmouth accompanied by a wife and child, two motor cars and six servants.

Captain Obed Bangs, who had been spending a week in Orham on business connected with his fish weirs, returned to find the village chanting the praises of the new arrival. Somehow or other E. Holliday had managed already to convey the impression that he was the most important person in creation. The captain happening in at the High Cliff House after supper, found the group in the living-room discussing the all-important topic. Most of the city boarders were out enjoying a “marshmallow toast” about a bonfire on the beach, but the “regulars” were present.

“Where's Mrs. Thankful?” was Captain Obed's first question.

“She's in the kitchen, I think,” replied John. “Shall I call her?”

“Oh, no, no! It ain't particular. I just—just wondered where she was, that's all. I wouldn't trouble her on no account.”

John smiled. He seemed quietly amused about something. He regarded his friend, who, after a glance in his direction, was staring at the lamp on the table, and said:

“I'm sure it would be no trouble, Captain. Better let me tell her you are here.”

Captain Obed was saved the embarrassment of further protestations by the entrance of Thankful herself; Emily accompanied her. The captain shook hands with Mrs. Barnes and her cousin and hastened to announce that he heard “big news” down street and had run over to find out how much truth there was in it.

“Couldn't scurcely believe it, myself,” he declared. “John here, never said a word about his high-toned relation comin' to East Wellmouth. Had you any idea he was comin', John?”

John shook his head.

“No,” he said. “The last time I saw him in New York, which was two years or more ago, he did say something about being on the lookout for a summer residence. But he did not mention East Wellmouth; nor did I. I remember hearing that he and the late Mr. Colfax were quite friendly, associated in business affairs, I believe. Probably that accounts for his being here.”

“Set down, everybody,” urged Thankful. “I'm willin' to set down, myself, I can tell you. Been on my feet 'most of the day. What sort of a person is this relation of yours, Mr. Kendrick? He ought to be all right, if there's anything in family connections.”

Heman Daniels answered the question. He spoke with authority.

“Mr. Holliday is a fine gentleman,” he announced, emphatically. “I've seen him two or three times since he came. He's a millionaire, but it doesn't make him pompous or stand-offish. He and I spoke—er—conversed together as friendly and easy as if we had known each other all our lives. He is very much interested in East Wellmouth. He tells me that, if the place keeps on suiting him as it has so far, he intends making it his permanent home. Of course he won't stay here ALL the year—the family have a house in Florida and one in New York, I believe—but he will call East Wellmouth his real home and his interests will center here.”

There was a general expression of satisfaction. Miss Timpson declared that it was “real lovely” of Mr. Holliday Kendrick. Caleb Hammond announced that he always cal'lated there was a boom coming for the town. Had said so more times than he could count. “Folks'll tell you I said it, too,” he proclaimed stoutly. “They'll bear me out in it, if you ask 'em.”

“I'm glad we're goin' to have such nice neighbors,” said Thankful. “It's always worried me a little wonderin' who that Colfax place might be sold to. I didn't know but somebody might get it with the notion of startin' another hotel.”

“Hannah Parker ain't opened her mouth to talk of anything else since I got back,” said Captain Bangs. “And it's been open most of the time, too. She says John's rich relation's locatin' here is a dissipation of Providence, if you know what that is.”

John smiled but he said nothing. Emily was silent, also; she was regarding the young man intently.

“Yes, sir,” continued Mr. Daniels, evidently pleased at the approval with which his statement had been met. “Yes, sir, Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick is destined to be a great acquisition to this town; mark my words. He tells me he shall hire no one to do his work except East Wellmouth people. And there will be a lot of work to be done, if he carries out his plans. He intends building an addition to his house, and enlarging his estate—”

Thankful interrupted.

“Enlargin' it!” she repeated. “Mercy sakes! What for? I should think 'twas large enough now!”

Heman smiled tolerantly. “To us—the ordinary—er—citizens, it might appear so,” he observed. “But the—er—New York ideas is broader than the average Cape Codder's, if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Kendrick has begun to spend money here already, and he will doubtless spend more. He contemplates public improvements as well as private. He asked me what sort of spirit there was in our community. Ahem!”

He paused, apparently to let the importance of the announcement sink in. It sank, or seemed to. Mr. Hammond, however, was somewhat puzzled.

“Now what do you cal'late he meant by that?” he queried.

John Kendrick answered. He and Emily had exchanged smiles. Neither of them seemed as deeply impressed with the Daniels proclamation as the others of the group.

“Perhaps he wanted to buy a drink,” suggested John, gravely.

Miss Timpson was shocked; her expression showed it. Caleb Hammond did not seem to know whether to be shocked or not; the Hammond appreciation of a joke generally arrived on a later train. Mrs. Barnes and Captain Obed laughed, but not too heartily.

Mr. Daniels did not laugh. The frivolous interruption evidently jarred him.

“I scarcely imagine that to be the reason,” he said, drily. “If Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick does indulge I guess likely—that is, I presume he would not find it necessary to buy his—er—beverages here. He meant public spirit, of course. He asked me who our leading men were.”

“Who were they—the others, I mean?” asked John.

Emily rubbed away a smile with her handkerchief. Heman noticed her action, and his color brightened.

“They WERE public,” he said, rather sharply. “They were men of standing—long standing in the community. Prominent and prosperous citizens, who have lived here long enough for East Wellmouth to know them—and respect them.”

This was a shot in the bull's eye. Miss Timpson evidently thought so, for she nodded approval. Daniels continued.

“They were men of known worth,” he went on. “Practical citizens whose past as well as present is known. Your cousin—I believe he is your cousin, Kendrick, although he did not mention the relationship—was grateful to me for giving him their names. He is a practical man, himself.”

John nodded. “He must be,” he admitted. “No one but a practical man could get all that advice, free, from a lawyer.”

Captain Obed laughed aloud.

“That's a good one,” he declared. “Lawyers ain't in the habit of GIVIN' much, 'cordin' to all accounts. How about it, Heman?”

Mr. Daniels ignored the question and the questioner. He rose to his feet.

“There are SOME lawyers,” he observed, crisply, “whose advice is not asked—to any great extent. I—I think I will join the group on the beach. It's a beautiful evening. Won't you accompany me, Miss Howes?”

Emily declined the invitation. “No, thank you, Mr. Daniels,” she said. “I am rather tired and I think I won't go out tonight. By the way, Mr. Kendrick,” she added, “was the great man asking your advice also? I happened to see him go into your office yesterday.”

Everyone was surprised—everyone except the speaker and the person addressed, that is—but Heman's surprise was most manifest. His hand was on the knob of the door, but now he turned.

“In HIS office?” he repeated. “Kendrick, was he in to see YOU?”

John bowed assent. “Yes,” he said. “He seems to be contemplating retaining a sort of—of resident attorney to look after his local affairs. I mentioned your name, Daniels.”

Mr. Daniels went out. The door banged behind him.

A half hour later, after Mr. Hammond also had gone to join the marshmallow toasters and Miss Timpson had retired to her room, John told the others the story. Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick HAD called upon him at his office and he did contemplate engaging a resident lawyer. There were likely to be many of what he termed “minor details” connected with the transfer of the Colfax estate to him and the purchases which he meant to make later on, and an attorney at his beck and call would be a great convenience. Not this only; he had actually offered his young cousin the position, had offered to engage him and to pay him several hundred dollars as a retaining fee.

He told his hearers so much, and then he stopped. Emily, who had seemed much interested, waited a moment and then begged him to continue.

“Well?” she said. “Why don't you tell us the rest? We are all waiting to congratulate you. You accepted, of course.”

John shook his head. “Why, no,” he replied, “I didn't accept, exactly. I did say I would think it over; but I—well, I'm not sure that I shall accept.”

Here was the unexpected. His hearers looked at each other in amazement.

“You won't accept!” cried Thankful. “Why, Mr. Kendrick.”

“Won't accept!” shouted Captain Obed. “What on earth! Why, John Kendrick, what's the matter with you? Ain't you been settin' in that office of yours waitin' and waitin' for somethin' worth while to come along? And now a really big chance does come, and you say you don't know as you'll take it! What kind of talk's that, I'd like to know!”

John smiled. Miss Howes, who seemed as much surprised as the others, did not smile.

“Why won't you take it?” demanded the captain.

“Oh, I don't know. The proposition doesn't appeal to me as strongly as it should, perhaps. Cousin Holliday and I ARE cousins, but we—well, we differ in other ways besides the size of our incomes. When I was in New York I went to him at one time. I was—I needed—well, I went to him. He consented to see me and he listened to what I had to say, but he was not too cordial. He didn't ask me to call again. Now he seems changed, I admit. Remembers perfectly well that I am his father's brother's only child and all that, and out of the kindness of his heart offers me employment. But—but I don't know.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Emily broke the silence.

“You don't know?” she repeated, rather sharply. “Why not, may I ask?”

“Oh, I don't, that's all. For one thing, there is just a little too much condescension in my dear cousin's manner. I may be a yellow dog, but I don't like to sit up and beg when my master threatens to throw me a bone. Perhaps I'm particular as to who that master may be.”

Again it was Emily who spoke.

“Perhaps you are—TOO particular,” she said. “Can you afford to be so particular?”

“Probably not. But, you see, there is another thing. There is a question of professional ethics involved. If I take that retainer I am bound in honor to undertake any case Cousin Holliday may give me. And—and, I'm not sure I should care to do that. You know how I feel about a lawyer's duty to his client and his duty to himself. There are certain questions—”

She interrupted.

“I think there are, too many questions,” she said. “I lose patience with you sometimes. Often and often I have known of your refusing cases which other lawyers have taken and won.”

“Meaning Brother Daniels?” He asked it with a smile, but with some sarcasm in his tone. Both he and Miss Rowes seemed to have forgotten that the captain and Thankful were present.

“Why, yes. Mr. Daniels has accepted cases which you have refused. No one thinks the less of him for it. He will accept your cousin's retainer if you don't.”

“I presume he will. That would be the practical thing to do, and he prides himself on his practicality.”

“Practicality is not altogether bad. It is often necessary in this practical world. What case is Mr. Kendrick likely to put in your hands which you would hesitate to undertake?”

“None that I know of. But if he did, I—”

“You could refuse to take it.”

“Why, not easily. I should have accepted his retainer and that, according to legal etiquette, would make me honor bound to—”

She interrupted again. Her patience was almost gone, that was plain. For the matter of that, so was Captain Obed's.

“Don't you think that you are a trifle too sensitive concerning honor?” she asked. “And too suspicious besides? I do. Oh, I am tired of your scruples. I don't like to see you letting success and—and all the rest of it pass you by, when other men, not so overscrupulous, do succeed. Don't you care for success? Or for money?”

John interrupted her. He leaned forward and spoke, deliberately but firmly. And he looked her straight in the face.

“I do,” he said. “I care for both—now—more than I ever thought I could care.”

And, all at once, the young lady seemed to remember that her cousin and the captain were in the room. She colored, and when she spoke it was in a different tone.

“Then,” she said, “it seems to me, if I were you, I should accept the opportunities that came in my way. Of course, it's not my affair. I shouldn't have presumed to advise.” She rose and moved toward the door. “Good night, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. “Good night, Captain Bangs. Auntie, you will excuse me, won't you? I am rather tired tonight, and—”

But once more Kendrick interrupted.

“One moment, please, Miss Howes,” he said, earnestly. “Do I understand—do you mean that you wish me to accept Cousin Holliday's retainer?”

Emily paused.

“Why,” she answered, after an instant's hesitation, “I—I really don't see why my wish one way or the other should be very strong. But—but as a friend of yours—of course we are all your friends, Mr. Kendrick—as one of your friends I—we, naturally, like to see you rise in your profession.”

“Then you advise me to accept?”

“If my advice is worth anything—yes. Good night.”

Next day, when Captain Obed made his customary call at the ex-barber-shop, he ventured to ask the question uppermost in his mind.

“Have you decided yet, John?” he asked.

His friend looked at him.

“Meaning—what?” he queried.

“Meanin'—you know what I mean well enough. Have you decided to take your cousin's offer?”

“I've done more than that, Captain. I have accepted the offer and the retaining fee, too.”

Captain Obed sprang forward and held out his hand.

“Bully for you, John!” he shouted. “That's the best thing you ever done in your life. NOW you've really started.”

Kendrick smiled. “Yes,” he admitted, “I have started. Where I may finish is another matter.”

“Oh, you'll finish all right. Don't be a Jeremiah, John. Well, well! This is fine. Won't all hands be pleased!”

“Yes, won't they! Especially Brother Daniels. Daniels will be overcome with joy. Captain, have a cigar. Have two cigars. I have begun to spend my retainer already, you see.”