couldn't stand that no more'n a dog with a
dipper to his tail. He's so everlastin' sensitive. Hello, Penn! Stuck
again? Don't try any more o' your patents. Come up on her, and keep
your rodin' straight up an' down."

"It doesn't move," said the little man, panting. "It doesn't move at
all, and instead I tried everything."

"What's all this hurrah's-nest for'ard?" said Dan, pointing to a wild
tangle of spare oars and dory-roding, all matted together by the hand
of inexperience.

"Oh, that," said Penn proudly, "is a Spanish windlass. Mr. Salters
showed me how to make it; but even that doesn't move her."

Dan bent low over the gunwale to hide a smile, twitched once or twice
on the roding, and, behold, the anchor drew at once.

"Haul up, Penn," he said laughing, "er she'll git stuck again."

They left him regarding the weed-hung flukes of the little anchor with
big, pathetic blue eyes, and thanking them profusely.

"Oh, say, while I think of it, Harve," said Dan when they were out of
ear-shot, "Penn ain't quite all caulked. He ain't nowise dangerous, but
his mind's give out. See?"

"Is that so, or is it one of your father's judgments?"

Harvey asked as he bent to his oars. He felt he was learning to handle
them more easily.

"Dad ain't mistook this time. Penn's a sure 'nuff loony."

"No, he ain't thet exactly, so much ez a harmless ijut. It was this way
(you're rowin' quite so, Harve), an' I tell you 'cause it's right you
orter know. He was a Moravian preacher once. Jacob Boiler wuz his name,
Dad told me, an' he lived with his wife an' four children somewheres
out Pennsylvania way. Well, Penn he took his folks along to a Moravian
meetin'--camp-meetin' most like--an' they stayed over jest one night in
Johns-town. You've heered talk o' Johnstown?"

Harvey considered. "Yes, I have. But I don't know why. It sticks in my
head same as Ashtabula."

"Both was big accidents--thet's why, Harve. Well, that one single night
Penn and his folks was to the hotel Johnstown was wiped out. 'Dam bust
an' flooded her, an' the houses struck adrift an' bumped into each
other an' sunk. I've seen the pictures, an' they're dretful. Penn he
saw his folk drowned all'n a heap 'fore he rightly knew what was
comin'. His mind give out from that on. He mistrusted somethin' hed
happened up to Johnstown, but for the poor life of him he couldn't
remember what, an' he jest drifted araound smilin' an' wonderin'. He
didn't know what he was, nor