ng, was
spent by Mr. Winslow in sitting by the workbench and idly
scratching upon a board with the point of the chisel. Sometimes
his scratches were meaningless, sometimes they spelled a name, a
name which he seemed to enjoy spelling. But at intervals during
that day, and on other days which followed, he was conscious of an
uneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a dim
foreboding.

Ruth Armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. But had he been
as loyal to an older friend, a friend he had known all his life?
Had he been loyal to Captain Sam Hunniwell?

That was the feeling of guilt. The foreboding was not as definite,
but it was always with him; he could not shake it off. All his
life he had dealt truthfully with the world, had not lied, or
evaded, or compromised. Now he had permitted himself to become a
silent partner in such a compromise. And some day, somehow,
trouble was coming because of it.

CHAPTER XII

Before the end of another week Charles Phillips came to Orham. It
was Ruth who told Jed the news. She came into the windmill shop
and, standing beside the bench where he was at work, she said: "Mr.
Winslow, I have something to tell you."

Jed put down the pencil and sheet of paper upon which he had been
drawing new patterns for the "gull vane" which was to move its
wings when the wind blew. This great invention had not progressed
very far toward practical perfection. Its inventor had been busy
with other things and had of late rather lost interest in it. But
Barbara's interest had not flagged and to please her Jed had
promised to think a little more about it during the next day or so.

"But can't you make it flap its wings, Uncle Jed?" the child had
asked.

Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-ll," he drawled, "I don't know. I
thought I could, but now I ain't so sure. I could make 'em whirl
'round and 'round like a mill or a set of sailor paddles, but to
make 'em flap is different. They've got to be put on strong enough
so they won't flop off. You see," he added, solemnly, "if they
kept floppin' off they wouldn't keep flappin' on. There's all the
difference in the world between a flap and flop."

He was trying to reconcile that difference when Ruth entered the
shop. He looked up at her absently. "Mr. Winslow," she began
again, "I--"

His reproachful look made her pause and smile slightly in spite of
herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Well, then--Jed--I have something