Captain Obed Bangs rose at his usual hour that Christmas morning, and the hour was an early one. When he looked from his bedroom window the clouds were breaking and a glance at his barometer, hung on the wall just beside that window, showed the glass to be rising and confirmed the promise of a fair day. He dressed and came downstairs. Hannah Parker came down soon afterward. The captain wished her a merry Christmas.

Miss Parker shook her head; she seemed to be in a pessimistic mood.

“I'm much obliged to you, Cap'n Bangs,” she said, “and I'm sure I wish you the same. But I don't know; don't seem as if I was liable to have many more merry Christmases in this life. No, merry Christmases ain't for me. I'm a second fiddle nowadays and I cal'late that's what I'm foreordinated to be from now on.”

The captain didn't understand.

“Second fiddle,” he repeated. “What have you got to do with fiddlin', for goodness' sakes?”

“Nothin', of course. I don't mean a real fiddle. I mean I shan't never be my own mistress any more. I've been layin' awake thinkin' about it and shiverin', 'twas so damp and chilly up in my room. There's a loose shingle right over a knot hole that's abreast a crack in my bedroom wall, and it lets in the dampness like a sieve. I've asked Kenelm to fix it MORE times; but no, all he cares to do is look out for himself and that inmate. If SHE had a loose shingle he'd fix it quick enough. All I could do this mornin' was lay to bed there and shiver and pull up the quilt and think and think. It kept comin' over me more and more.”

“The quilt, you mean? That's what you wanted it to do, wasn't it?”

“Not the quilt. The thought of the lonesome old age that's comin' to me when Kenelm's married. I've had him to look after for so long. I've been my own boss, as they say.”

She might have added, “And Kenelm's, too,” but Captain Obed added it for her, in his mind. He laughed.

“That's all right, Hannah,” he observed, by way of consolation. “Kenelm ain't married yet. When he is you can help his wife look out for him. Either that or get married. Why don't you get married, Hannah?”

“Humph! Don't be silly, Obed Bangs.”

“That ain't silliness, that's sense. All you need to do is just h'ist the signal, 'Consort wanted,' and you'd have one alongside in no time. There's Caleb Hammond, for instance; he's a widower and—eh! look out!”

Miss Parker had dropped the plate she was just putting down upon the table. Fortunately it fell only a few inches and did not break.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded sharply.

“I meant the plate. Little more and you'd have sent it to glory.”

“Never you mind the plate. I can look out for my own crockery. 'Twas cracked anyhow. And I guess you're cracked, too,” she added. “Talkin' about my—my marryin' Caleb Hammond. What put that in your head?”

“I don't know. I just—”

“Well, don't be silly. When I marry Caleb Hammond,” she added with emphasis, “'twill be after THIS.”

“So I cal'lated. I didn't think you'd married him afore this. There now, you missed a chance, Hannah. You and he ought to have got married that time when you went away together.”

Miss Parker turned pale. “When we went—away—TOGETHER!” she faltered. “WHAT are you talkin' about?”

“When you went over to the Cattle Show that time.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“Sartin. What are you glarin' at me that way for? You ain't been away together any other time, have you? No, Hannah, that was your chance. You and Caleb might have been married in the balloon, like the couples we read about in the papers. Ho! ho! Think of the advertisin' you'd have had! 'A high church weddin'.' 'Bride and groom up in the air.' Can't you see those headlines?”

Hannah appeared more relieved than annoyed.

“Humph!” she sniffed. “Well, I should say YOU was up in the air, Obed Bangs. What's the matter with you this mornin'? Has the rain soaked into your head? It seems to be softenin' up pretty fast. If you're so set on somebody gettin' married why don't you get married yourself? You've been what the minister calls 'unattackted' all your life.”

The minister had said “unattached,” but Captain Obed did not offer to correct the quotation. He joked no more and, during breakfast, was silent and absent-minded.

After breakfast he went out for a walk. The storm had gullied the hills and flooded the hollows. There were pools of water everywhere, shining cold and steely in the winter sunshine. The captain remembered the low ground in which the barn and outbuildings upon the “Cap'n Abner place” stood, and judged that he and Kenelm might have to do some rescue work among the poultry later on. He went back to the house to suggest that work to Mr. Parker himself.

Kenelm and his sister were evidently in the midst of a dispute. The former was seated at the breakfast table and Hannah was standing by the kitchen door looking at him.

“Goin' off to work Christmas Day!” she said, as the captain entered. “I should think you might stay home with me THAT day, if no other. 'Tain't the work you're so anxious to get to. It's that precious inmate of yours.”

Kenelm's answer was as surprising as it was emphatic.

“Darn the inmate!” he shouted. “I wish to thunder I'd never seen her!”

Captain Obed whistled. Miss Parker staggered, but she recovered promptly.

“Oh,” she said, “that's how you feel, is it? Well, if I felt that way toward anybody I don't think I'd be plannin' to marry 'em.”

“Ugh! What's the use of talkin' rubbish? I've GOT to marry her, ain't I? She's got that paper I was fool enough to sign. Oh, let me alone, Hannah! I won't go over there till I have to. I'd ruther stay to home enough sight.”

Hannah put her arms about his neck. “There, there, Kenelm, dearie,” she said soothingly, “you eat your breakfast like a nice brother. I'LL be good to you, if nobody else ain't. And I didn't have to sign any paper afore I'd do it either.”

Kenelm grunted ungraciously.

“'Twas your fault, anyhow,” he muttered. “If you hadn't bossed me and driven me into workin' for Thankful Barnes 'twouldn't have happened. I wouldn't have thought of gettin' engaged to be married.”

“Never mind, dearie. You ain't married yet. Perhaps you won't be. And, anyhow, you know I'LL never boss you any more.”

Kenelm looked at her. There was an odd expression in his eyes.

“You bet you won't!” he said, slowly. “I'll see to that.”

“Why, Kenelm, what do you mean?”

“I don't mean nothin'—maybe. Give me some more coffee.”

Captain Obed decided that the present was not the time to suggest a trip to the High Cliff House. He went out again, to walk along the path and think over what he had just heard. It was interesting, as showing the attitude of one of the contracting parties toward the “engagement,” the announcement of which had been such a staggering finish to the “big day” of the County Fair.

Winnie S. came whistling up the path from the village.

“Hi, Cap'n Bangs!” he shouted. “I was just goin' to stop at Hannah's to tell you somethin'.”

“You was, eh?”

“Yup. Then I was goin' on to the High Cliff. I've got somethin' to take to Mrs. Thankful. What do you suppose 'tis?”

He exhibited the long envelope.

“John Kendrick sent it to her,” he said. “I don't know what's in it. And he wants you to come to his office right off, Cap'n Obed. That's what I was goin' to tell you. He says not to wait till afternoon, same as he said, but to come now. It's important, he says.”

John was seated at the desk in his office when the captain opened the door. He bowed gravely.

“Take off your hat and coat, Captain,” he said. “Sit down. I'm glad you got my message and came early. I am expecting the other party at any moment.”

Captain Obed was puzzled.

“The other party?” he repeated. “What other party?”

“My—er—well, we'll call him my client. He is on his way here and I may need you—as a witness.”

“Witness? What to?”

“You will see. Now, Captain, if you'll excuse me, I have some papers to arrange. Make yourself as comfortable as you can. I'm sure you won't have to wait long.”

Fifteen minutes later the rasping, arrogant “honk” of a motor horn came from the road outside. Heavy, important steps sounded upon the office platform. The door opened and in came Mr. E. Holliday Kendnick.

Captain Obed had known of the great man's expected arrival, but he had not expected it so early in the day. E. Holliday wore a luxurious fur-lined coat and looked as prosperous and important as ever, but also—so it seemed to the captain—he looked disturbed and puzzled and angry.

The captain rose to his feet and said, “Good morning,” but except for a nod of recognition, his greeting was unanswered. Mr. Kendrick slammed the door behind him, stalked across the office, took a letter from his pocket and threw it down upon his attorney's desk.

“What's the meaning of that?” he demanded.

John was perfectly calm. “Sit down, Mr. Kendrick,” he said.

“No, I won't sit down. What the devil do you mean by sending me that thing? You expected me, didn't you? You got my wire saying I was coming.”

“Yes, I got it. Sit down. I have a good deal to say and it may take some time. Throw off your coat.”

E. Holliday threw the fur coat open, but he did not remove it. He jerked a chair forward and seated himself upon it.

“Now what does that thing mean?” he demanded, pointing to the envelope he had tossed on the desk.

John picked up the envelope and opened it. A letter and a bank check fell out.

“I will explain,” he said quietly. “Mr. Kendrick, you know Captain Obed Bangs, I think. Oh, it is all right. The captain is here at my request. I asked him to be here. I wanted a reliable witness and he is reliable. This,” he went on, taking up the letter, “is a note I wrote you, Mr. Kendrick. It states that I am resigning my position as your attorney. And this,” picking up the other paper, “is my check for five hundred dollars, the amount of your retainer, which I am returning to you. . . . You understand this so far, Captain?”

E. Holliday did not wait to hear whether the captain understood or not. His big face flamed red.

“But what the devil?” he demanded.

John held up his hand.

“One moment, please,” he said. “Captain Bangs, I want to explain a few things. As you know, I have been acting as Mr. Kendrick's attorney in the matter of the property occupied by Mrs. Barnes. He wished me to find a means of forcing her to sell that property to him. Now, when a person owning property does not wish to sell, that person cannot be forced into giving up the property unless it is discovered that the property doesn't belong to that particular person. That's plain, isn't it?”

He was speaking to Captain Obed, and the captain answered.

“But it does belong to her,” he declared. “Her Uncle Abner Barnes willed it to her. Course it belongs to her!”

“I know. But sometimes there are such things as flaws in a title. That is to say, somewhere and at some time there has been a transfer of that property that was illegal. In such a case the property belongs to the previous holder, no matter in how many instances it has changed hands since. In the present case it was perfectly plain that Mrs. Barnes thought she owned that land, having inherited it from her uncle. Therefore she could not be forced to sell unless it was discovered that there was a flaw in the title—that she did not own it legally at all. I told my client—Mr. Kendrick, here—that, and he ordered me to have the title searched or to search it myself. I have spent a good deal of time at the recorder's office in Ostable doing that very thing. And I discovered that there was such a flaw; that Mrs. Barnes did not legally own that land upon which her house stands. And, as the land was not hers, the house was not hers either.”

Holliday Kendrick struck the desk a thump with his fist.

“Good!” he cried. “Good enough! I told 'em I generally got what I wanted! Now I'll get it this time. Kendrick—”

“Wait,” said John. “Captain Obed, you understand me so far?”

The captain's outraged feelings burst forth.

“I understand it's durn mean business!” he shouted. “I'm ashamed of you, John Kendrick!”

“All right! all right! The shame can wait. And I want YOU to wait, too—until I've finished. There was a flaw in that title, as I said. Captain Bangs, as you know, the house in which Mrs. Barnes is now living originally stood, not where it now stands, but upon land two or three hundred yards to the north, upon a portion of the property which afterward became the Colfax estate and which now belongs to Mr. Kendrick here. You know that?”

Captain Obed nodded. “Course I know it,” he said. “Cap'n Abner could have bought the house and the land it stood on, but he didn't want to. He liked the view better from where it stands now. So he bought the strip nigher this way and moved the old house over. But he DID buy it and he paid cash for it. I know he did, because—”

“All right. I know he bought it and all the particulars of the purchase perhaps better than you do. A good deal of my time of late has been given to investigating the history of that second strip of land. Captain Abner Barnes, Mrs. Barnes' uncle, bought the land upon which he contemplated moving, and later, did move the house, of Isaiah Holt, Darius Holt's father, then living. Mr. Holt bought of a man named David Snow, who, in turn, bought of—”

Holliday Kendrick interrupted. “Snow bought of me,” he growled. “Worse luck! I was a fool to sell, or so I think now; but it was years ago; I had no idea at that time of coming here to live; and shore land was of no value then, anyhow. The strip came to me as a part of my father's estate. I thought myself lucky to get anything for it. But what's all this ancient history got to do with it now? And what do you mean by sending me this letter and that check?”

“I'll explain. I am trying to explain. The peculiar point comes in just here. You, Mr. Kendrick, never owned that land.”

E. Holliday bounced in his chair.

“Didn't own it!” he roared. “What nonsense are you talking? The land belonged to my father, Samuel Kendrick, and I inherited it from him.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I tell you I did. He left everything he had to me.”

“Yes, so he did. But he didn't own that land. He owned it at one time, probably he owned it when he made his will, but he didn't own it at the time of his death. Your father, Mr. Kendrick, was in financial straits at various times during his residence here in Orham and he borrowed a good deal of money. The most of these were loans, pure and simple, but one at least wasn't. At one time—needing money badly, I presume—he sold this strip of land. The purchaser thought it was worth nothing, no doubt, and never mentioned owning it—at least, until just before he died. He simply had the deed recorded and forgot it. Everyone else forgot it, too. But the heirs, or the heir, of that purchaser, I discovered, was the legal owner of that land.”

Captain Obed uttered an exclamation.

“Why, John Kendrick!” he shouted. “Do you mean—”

“Hush, Captain! Mr. Kendrick,” addressing the red-faced and furious gentleman at his left, “have I made myself clear so far? Do you follow me?”

“Follow you? I don't believe it! I—I—don't believe it! Who was he? Who did my father sell that land to?”

“He sold it to his brother, Bailey Kendrick, and Bailey Kendrick was my father. Under my father's will what little property he had came to me. If anything is sure in this world, it is that that land occupied by Mrs. Barnes belonged, legally, to me.”

Neither of his hearers spoke immediately. Then E. Holliday sprang to his feet.

“It belongs to you, does it!” he shouted. “It belongs to you? All right, so much the better. I can buy of you as well as anybody else. That's why you sent me back your retainer, was it? So you and I could trade man to man. All right! I don't believe it yet, but I'll listen to you. What's your proposition?”

John shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You're wrong there. I sent you the retainer because I wished to be absolutely free to do as I pleased with what was mine. I couldn't remain in your employ and act contrary to your interests—or, according to my way of thinking, I couldn't. As I saw it I did not own that land—morally, at least. So, having resigned my employment with you I—well, I gave the land to the person who, by all that is right and—and HONEST, should own it. I had the deed made out in her name and I sent it to her an hour ago.”

Captain Obed had guessed it. Now HE sprang from his chair.

“John Kendrick,” he shouted, in huge delight, “you gave that land to Thankful Barnes. The deed was in that big envelope Winnie S. Holt was takin' to her this very mornin'!”

The happenings of the next few minutes were noisy and profane. E. Holliday Kendrick was responsible for most of the noise and all of the profanity. He stormed up and down the office, calling his cousin every uncomplimentary name that occurred to him, vowing the whole story to be a lie, and that the land should be his anyway; threatening suit and personal vengeance. His last words, as he strode to the door, were:

“And—and you're the fellow, the poor relation, that I gave my business to just from kindness! All right! I haven't finished with you yet.”

John's answer was calm, but emphatic.

“Very well,” he said. “But this you must understand: I consider myself under no obligation whatever to you, Mr. Kendrick. In the very beginning of our business relationship you and I had a plain talk. I told you when I consented to act as your attorney that I did so purely as a matter of business and that philanthropy and kinship were to have no part in it. And when you first mentioned your intention of forcing Mrs. Barnes to give up her home I told you what I thought of that, too.”

East Wellmouth's wealthiest summer resident expressed an opinion.

“You're a fool!” he snarled. “A d—d impractical fool!”

The door slammed behind him. John laughed quietly.

“As a judge of character, Captain Bangs,” he observed, “my respected cousin should rank high.”

Captain Obed's first act after E. Holliday's departure was to rush over, seize the young man's hand with one of his own, and thump him enthusiastically upon the back with the other.

“I said it!” he crowed. “I knew it! I knew you was all right and square as a brick all the time, John Kendrick! NOW let me meet some of those folks that have been talkin' against you! You never did a better day's work in your life. HE'S down on you, but every decent man in Ostable County'll be for you through thick and thin after this. Hooray for our side! John, shake hands with me again.”

They shook, heartily. The captain was so excited and jubilant that he was incoherent. At last, however, he managed to recover sufficiently to ask a question.

“But how did you do it,” he demanded. “How did you get on the track of it? You must have had some suspicions.”

John smiled. His friend's joy evidently pleased him, but he, himself, was rather sober and not in the least triumphant.

“I did have a suspicion, Captain,” he said. “In fact, I had been told that I had a claim to a piece of land somewhere along the shore here in East Wellmouth. My father told me years ago, when he was in his last sickness. He said that he owned a strip of land here, but that it was probably worth little or nothing. When I came here I intended looking into the matter, but I did not do so. Where the original deed may be, I don't know even now. It may be among some of my father's papers, which are stored in New York. But the record of the transfers I found in Ostable; and that is sufficient. My claim may not be quite as impregnable as I gave my late client to understand, but it will be hard to upset. I am the only possible claimant and I have transferred my claim to Mrs. Barnes. The land belongs to her now; she can't be dispossessed.”

“But—but, John, why didn't you say so sooner? What made you let everyone think—what they did think?”

Before John could reply there came an interruption. The door opened and Thankful Barnes entered. She paid no attention to Captain Obed, but, walking straight to the desk, laid upon it the long envelope which Winnie S. had brought to her house that morning.

“Will you tell me,” she asked, sharply, “what that means?”

John rose. “Yes,” he said, “I will tell you, Mrs. Barnes. It is a rather long story. Sit down, please.”

Thankful sank into the chair he indicated. He took up the envelope.

“I will tell you, Mrs. Barnes,” he said, “why I sent you this deed. Don't go, Captain Bangs, you know already and I should like to have you stay. Here is the story, Mrs. Barnes.”

He told it briefly, without superfluous words, but so clearly that there could be no possibility of a misunderstanding. When he began Thankful's attitude was cold and unbelieving. When he finished she was white and trembling.

“Mrs. Barnes,” he said, in conclusion, “I'm a peculiar fellow, I'm afraid. I have rather—well, suppose we call them impractical ideas concerning the ethics of my profession, duty to a client, and that sort of thing. I have always been particular in taking a case, but when I have taken it I have tried to carry it through. I—as you know, I hesitated before accepting my cousin's retaining fee and the implied obligation. However, I did accept.”

He might have given his reasons for accepting but he did not. He went on.

“When this matter of your property came up,” he said, “I at first had no idea that the thing was serious. You owned the property, as I supposed, and that was sufficient. I had told my cousin that and meant to tell you. I meant to tell you a portion of what I have just told the captain here, but I—well, I didn't. Mr. Daniels' remarks irritated me and I—well, he put the case as a test of legal skill between himself and me, and—and I have my share of pride, I suppose. So I determined to beat him if I could. It was wrong, as I see it now, and I beg your pardon.”

Thankful put a hand to her forehead.

“But you did—beat him, didn't you?” she stammered. “You found I didn't own the land.”

“Yes. I found I owned it myself, legally. If I had found it belonged to anyone else, I—well, I scarcely know what I should have done. You see,” with a half smile, “I'm trying to be perfectly frank. Finding that I was the owner made it easy.”

She did not understand. “It made it easy,” she repeated slowly. “But you gave it to ME!”

He leaned forward. “Please don't misunderstand me,” he said earnestly. “As I see it, that land belonged to you by all that is right and fair. Legally, perhaps, it didn't, but legal honesty isn't always moral honesty. I've found that out even in my limited practice.”

Captain Obed tried to put in a word. “Don't you see, Thankful?” he said. “John knew you thought you owned the land and so—”

“Hush! Please don't. I—I don't see. Mr. Kendrick, you—you have prided yourself on bein' honest with your clients, and Mr. Holliday Kendrick WAS your client.”

John smiled. “I compromised there,” he answered. “I returned his money and resigned as his attorney before I sent you the deed. It was a compromise, I admit, but I had to choose between him and—well, my honor, if you like; although that sounds theatrical. I chose to be honest with myself—that's all. The land is yours, Mrs. Barnes.”

He handed her the envelope containing the deed. She took it and sat there turning it over and over in her fingers, not looking at it, but thinking, or trying to think.

“You give it to me,” she said. “It was yours and you give it to me. Why should you? Do—do you think I can TAKE it from you?”

“Certainly, you must take it.”

“But I can't! I can't!”

“Certainly you can. Why not?”

“Why NOT? After the things I've thought about you? And after the way I've treated you? And—and after Emily—”

“She didn't know either,” broke in Captain Obed. “She didn't understand. She—”

“That's enough, Captain,” interrupted John. “Mrs. Barnes, you mustn't misunderstand me again. Neither you nor—nor Miss Howes must misunderstand my motives. I give this to you because I honestly believe it belongs to you, not because I expect anything in return. I—I confess I did hesitate a little. I feared—I feared she—”

“He means Emily,” broke in the irrepressible captain. “You mean Emily, don't you, John?”

“Yes,” with some embarrassment. “Yes, I do mean Miss Howes. She and I had been—friends, and I feared she might misinterpret my reasons. It was not until yesterday afternoon, when I learned of the—of the engagement, that I felt certain neither you nor she could misunderstand. Then I felt perfectly free to send you the deed.”

Captain Obed, who had grasped his meaning, would have spoken, but Thankful spoke first. She, evidently, was quite at sea.

“The engagement?” she repeated. “What engagement?”

“Miss Howes' engagement to Mr. Daniels. They were congratulating him on his engagement yesterday at the station. I overheard the congratulations. I had not known of it before.”

At last Thankful understood. She looked at the speaker, then at Captain Obed, and the color rushed to her face.

“And even though Emily—Hush, Obed Bangs! you keep still—and even though you knew Emily was engaged to Heman Daniels, you could still give me and her—this?”

“Now, Mrs. Barnes, do you think—”

“Think! John Kendrick, I think I ought to get down on my knees and beg your pardon for what I've thought these last two months. But I'm thinkin' right now and you ain't. Heman Daniels ain't engaged to Emily Howes at all; he's engaged to that Bayport woman, the one he's been so attentive to for a year or more. Oh, it's true! Winnie S. told me so just now. The news had just come to town and he was full of it. Heman's over to Bayport spendin' Christmas with her this very minute.”

Even Captain Obed had not a word to say. He was looking at John Kendrick and John's face was white.

“And I'll tell you somethin' else,” went on Thankful, “somethin' that Emily herself told me last night. She might have been engaged to Heman Daniels; he asked her to be. But she wouldn't have him; she told him no.”

John stepped from behind the desk. “She—she told him no,” he repeated. “She . . . Why?”

Thankful laughed aloud. “That,” she cried, “I SHAN'T tell you. If you don't know yourself then I ain't the one to tell you.”

Obed was at her side. “That's enough,” he ordered, taking her by the arm. “That's enough, Thankful Barnes. You come right along with me and fetch that deed with you. This young feller here has got some thinkin' to do, I cal'late. His mind needs overhaulin'. You come with me.”

He led her out to the sidewalk and on until they reached the postoffice. Then, still grasping her arm, he led her into that building. The office was open for a few hours, even though the day was Christmas.

“Here!” he whispered, eagerly. “Stand here by the window where we can see whether he comes out or not.”

“But, Obed, what are you doin'?”

“Doin'! I'm waitin' to see whether that boy is a permanent fool or just a temporary one. Wait now; wait and watch.”

The wait was but momentary. The door of John Kendrick's office opened and John himself came out. He shut the door, but he did not wait to lock it. They saw him cross the road and stride off down the lane toward the shore.

Captain Obed laughed aloud.

“No,” he cried, exultantly, “'twas only temporary. He's got his senses now. Thankful, let's you and me go for a walk. We shan't be needed at the High Cliff House for a spell—and we won't be WANTED there, either.”