ease?"

"Yes. Never mind tellin' me; show me. Make out a lease of this
house to Mrs. Armstrong here."

Mrs. Armstrong was, naturally, rather surprised.

"Why, Mr. Winslow," she cried; "what are you talking about? We
haven't agreed upon rent or--"

"Yes, we have. We've agreed about everything. Er--Babbie, you get
your things on and come on over to the shop. You and I mustn't be
sittin' 'round here any longer. We've got to get to WORK."

CHAPTER VII

And so, in as sudden a fashion as he had granted the "month's
trial," did Jed grant the permanent tenure of his property. The
question of rent, which might easily have been, with the ordinary
sort of landlord, a rock in the channel, turned out to be not even
a pebble. Captain Hunniwell, who was handling the business
details, including the making out of the lease, was somewhat
troubled.

"But, Jed," he protested, "you've GOT to listen to me. She won't
pay forty a month, although she agrees with me that for a furnished
house in a location like this it's dirt cheap. Of course she's
takin' it for all the year, which does make consider'ble
difference, although from May to October, when the summer folks are
here, I could get a hundred and forty a month just as easy as . . .
Eh? I believe you ain't heard a word I've been sayin'. Gracious
king! If you ain't enough to drive the mate of a cattle boat into
gettin' religion! Do you hear me? I say she won't pay--"

Jed, who was sitting before the battered old desk in the corner of
his workshop, did not look around, but he waved his right hand, the
fingers of which held the stump of a pencil, over his shoulder.

"Ssh-h, sh-h, Sam!" he observed, mildly. "Don't bother me now;
please don't, there's a good feller. I'm tryin' to work out
somethin' important."

"Well, this is important. Or, if it ain't, there's plenty that is
important waitin' for me up at the bank. I'm handlin' this house
business as a favor to you. If you think I've got nothin' else to
do you're mistaken."

Jed nodded, contritely, and turned to face his friend. "I know it,
Sam," he said, "I know it. I haven't got the least mite of excuse
for troublin' you."

"You ain't troublin' me--not that way. All I want of you is to say
yes or no. I tell you Mrs. Armstrong thinks she can't afford to
pay forty a month."

"Yes."

"And perhaps she can't. But you've got your own interests to think
about. What shall I do?"

"Yes."

"YES!