nly. "Hm! . . . That Major Grover seems like a
good sort of chap."

"I think he's awful nice," declared Babbie.

Ruth said nothing.

CHAPTER XIII

October passed and November came. The very last of the summer
cottages were closed. Orham settled down for its regular winter
hibernation. This year it was a bit less of a nap than usual
because of the activity at the aviation camp at East Harniss. The
swarm of carpenters, plumbers and mechanics was larger than ever
there now and the buildings were hastening toward completion, for
the first allotment of aviators, soldiers and recruits was due to
arrive in March. Major Grover was a busy and a worried man, but he
usually found time to drop in at the windmill shop for a moment or
two on each of his brief motor trips to Orham. Sometimes he found
Jed alone, more often Barbara was there also, and, semi-
occasionally, Ruth. The major and Charles Phillips met and
appeared to like each other. Charles was still on the rising tide
of local popularity. Even Gabe Bearse had a good word to say for
him among the many which he said concerning him. Phineas Babbitt,
however, continued to express dislike, or, at the most,
indifference.

"I'm too old a bird," declared the vindictive little hardware
dealer, "to bow down afore a slick tongue and a good-lookin'
figgerhead. He's one of Sam Hunniwell's pets and that's enough for
me. Anybody that ties up to Sam Hunniwell must have a rotten plank
in 'em somewheres; give it time and 'twill come out."

Charles and Jed Winslow were by this time good friends. The young
man usually spent at least a few minutes of each day chatting with
his eccentric neighbor. They were becoming more intimate, at times
almost confidential, although Phillips, like every other friend or
acquaintance of "Shavings" Winslow, was inclined to patronize or
condescend a bit in his relations with the latter. No one took the
windmill maker altogether seriously, not even Ruth Armstrong,
although she perhaps came nearest to doing so. Charles would drop
in at the shop of a morning, in the interval between breakfast and
bank opening, and, perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench,
would discuss various things. He and Jed were alike in one
characteristic--each had the habit of absent-mindedness and lapsing
into silence in the middle of a conversation. Jed's lapses, of
course, were likely to occur in the middle of a sentence, even in
the middle of a word