deserves to, that's all," said
Dabney. "Ford, there's Bill Lee's boat and three others coming in. We're
all right. One of 'em's a dredger."

Ford and Frank could only guess what their friend was up to, but Dab was
not doing any sort of guessing.

"Bill," he shouted, as Dick Lee's father came within hearing,--"Bill!
put a lot of your best panfish in this basket, and then go and fetch us
some lobsters. There's half a dozen in your pot. Did those others have
any luck?"

"More clams'n 'ysters," responded Bill.

"Then we'll take both lots."

The respect of the city boys for the resources of the Long-Island shore
in a time of famine began to rise rapidly a few moments later; for, not
only was one of Dab's baskets promptly laden with "panfish," such as
porgies, blackfish, and perch, but two others received all the clams and
oysters they were at all anxious to carry to the house. At the same time
Bill Lee offered, as an amendment on the lobster question,--

"Yer wrong 'bout de pot, Dab."

"Wrong? Why"--

"Yes, you's wrong. Glorianny's been an' biled ebery one on 'em, an'
dey're all nice an' cold by dis time."

"All right. I never did eat my lobsters raw. Just you go and get them,
Dick. Bring 'em right over to Ford's house."

Bill Lee would have sent his house and all, on a suggestion that the
Kinzers or the Fosters were in need of it; and Dick would have carried
it over for him.

As for "Glorianna," when her son came running in with his errand, she
exclaimed,--

"Dem lobsters? Sho! Dem ain't good nuff. Dey sha'n't have 'em. I'll jes'
send de ole man all roun' de bay to git some good ones. On'y dey isn't
no kine ob lobsters good nuff for some folks, dey isn't."

Dick insisted, however; and by the time he reached the back door of the
old Kinzer homestead with his load, the kitchen beyond that door had
become almost as busy a place as was that of Mrs. Miranda Morris, a few
rods away.

"Ford," suddenly exclaimed Dab, as he finished scaling a large porgy,
"what if mother should make a mistake!"

"Make a mistake! How?"

"Cook that baby. It's awful!"

"Why, its mother's there."

"Yes, but they've put her to bed, and its father too. Hey, here come the
lobsters. Now, Ford"--

The rest of what he had to say was given in a whisper, and was not even
heard by Annie Foster, who was just then looking prettier than ever, as
she busied herself around the kitchen-fire. The bloom that was coming up
into her face was a s