en, entering the workshop, took
up the paint brush and the top sailor-man of the pile beside him
and began work. This, except on Sundays, was his usual morning
routine. It varied little, except that he occasionally sawed or
whittled instead of painted, or, less occasionally still, boxed
some of his wares for shipment.

During the forenoon he had some visitors. A group of summer people
from the hotel came in and, after pawing over and displacing about
half of the movable stock, bought ten or fifteen dollars' worth and
departed. Mr. Winslow had the satisfaction of hearing them burst
into a shout of laughter as they emerged into the yard and the
shrill voice of one of the females in the party rose above the
hilarity with: "Isn't he the WEIRDEST thing!" And an accompanying
male voice appraised him as "Some guy, believe me! S-o-o-me guy!"
Jed winced a little, but he went on with his painting. On one's
forty-fifth birthday one has acquired or should have acquired a
certain measure of philosophical resignation.

Other customers or lookers came and went. Maud Hunniwell, Captain
Sam's daughter, dropped in on her way to the post office. The
captain was a widower and Maud was his only child. She was,
therefore, more than the apple of his eye, she was a whole orchard
of apples. She was eighteen, pretty and vivacious, and her father
made a thorough job of spoiling her. Not that the spoiling had
injured her to any great extent, it had not as yet, but that was
Captain Sam's good luck. Maud was wearing a new dress--she had a
new one every week or so--and she came into the windmill shop to
show it. Of course she would have denied that that was the reason
for her coming, but the statement stands, nevertheless. She and
Jed were great chums and had been since she could walk. She liked
him, took his part when she heard him criticized or made fun of,
and was always prettily confidential and friendly when they were
alone together. Of course there was a touch of superiority and
patronage in her friendship. She should not be blamed for this;
all Orham, consciously or unconsciously, patronized Jed Winslow.

She came into the inner shop and sat down upon the same upturned
box upon which her father had sat the afternoon before. Her first
remark, after "good mornings" had been exchanged, was concerning
the "Private" sign on the inner side of the door.

"What in the world have you put that sign inside here for?" she
demanded