penny-royal lotion. "I
don't know sometimes but William's kind of poetical," she continued, in
her gentlest voice. "You 'd think if anything could cure him of it, 't
would be the fish business."

It was only twenty minutes past six on a summer morning, but we both
sat down to rest as if the activities of the day were over. Mrs. Todd
rocked gently for a time, and seemed to be lost, though not poorly,
like Macbeth, in her thoughts. At last she resumed relations with her
actual surroundings. "I shall now put my lobsters on. They'll make us
a good supper," she announced. "Then I can let the fire out for all
day; give it a holiday, same's William. You can have a little one now,
nice an' hot, if you ain't got all the breakfast you want. Yes, I 'll
put the lobsters on. William was very thoughtful to bring 'em over;
William is thoughtful; if he only had a spark o' ambition, there be few
could match him."

This unusual concession was afforded a sympathetic listener from the
depths of the kitchen closet. Mrs. Todd was getting out her old iron
lobster pot, and began to speak of prosaic affairs. I hoped that I
should hear something more about her brother and their island life, and
sat idly by the kitchen window looking at the morning glories that
shaded it, believing that some flaw of wind might set Mrs. Todd's mind
on its former course. Then it occurred to me that she had spoken about
our supper rather than our dinner, and I guessed that she might have
some great scheme before her for the day.

When I had loitered for some time and there was no further word about
William, and at last I was conscious of receiving no attention
whatever, I went away. It was something of a disappointment to find
that she put no hindrance in the way of my usual morning affairs, of
going up to the empty little white schoolhouse on the hill where I did
my task of writing. I had been almost sure of a holiday when I
discovered that Mrs. Todd was likely to take one herself; we had not
been far afield to gather herbs and pleasures for many days now, but a
little later she had silently vanished. I found my luncheon ready on
the table in the little entry, wrapped in its shining old homespun
napkin, and as if by way of special consolation, there was a stone
bottle of Mrs. Todd's best spruce beer, with a long piece of cod line
wound round it by which it could be lowered for coolness into the deep
schoolhouse well.

I walked away with a dull