for "types." A few, like Mr. Gabriel Bearse, who
distinctly did NOT understand him and who found his solemn
suggestions and pointed repartee irritating at times, were inclined
to refer to him in these moments of irritation as "town crank."
But they did not really mean it when they said it. And some
others, like Leander Babbitt or Captain Hunniwell, came to ask his
advice on personal matters, although even they patronized him just
a little. He had various nicknames, "Shavings" being the most
popular.

His peculiar business, the making of wooden mills, toys and weather
vanes, had grown steadily. Now he shipped many boxes of these to
other seashore and mountain resorts. He might have doubled his
output had he chosen to employ help or to enlarge his plant, but he
would not do so. He had rented the old Winslow house furnished
once to a summer tenant, but he never did so again, although he had
many opportunities. He lived alone in the addition to the little
workshop, cooking his own meals, making his own bed, and sewing on
his own buttons.

And on the day following that upon which Leander Babbitt enrolled
to fight for Uncle Sam, Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow was forty-
five years old.

He was conscious of that fact when he arose. It was a pleasant
morning, the sun was rising over the notched horizon of the
tumbling ocean, the breeze was blowing, the surf on the bar was
frothing and roaring cheerily--and it was his birthday. The
morning, the sunrise, the surf and all the rest were pleasant to
contemplate--his age was not. So he decided not to contemplate it.
Instead he went out and hoisted at the top of the short pole on the
edge of the bluff the flag he had set there on the day when the
United States declared war against the Hun. He hoisted it every
fine morning and he took it in every night.

He stood for a moment, watching the red, white and blue flapping
bravely in the morning sunshine, then he went back into his little
kitchen at the rear of the workshop and set about cooking his
breakfast. The kitchen was about as big as a good-sized packing
box and Jed, standing over the oilstove, could reach any shelf in
sight without moving. He cooked his oatmeal porridge, boiled his
egg and then sat down at the table in the next room--his combined
living and dining-room and not very much bigger than the kitchen--
to eat. When he had finished, he washed the dishes, walked up to
the post office for the mail and th