hat cable message doesn't come from
father. If it comes to-night"--

"Oh, that's so, there wus a telegram this noon. Ye-us, that's so. I
remember now. 'Twus from yer pa."

"Where is it? Why didn't you send it up, then?" John could hear the
vexation fairly crackling in the speaker's voice.

"Why, I see he got thar all right, so I didn't know as thar wus any
drive."

Some supporting sense of humor seemed to come to the girl, for John
could hear her desperate chuckle as she went out with the cablegram.

"Handsome evenin', Mr. Dunham," remarked the unmoved postmaster.
"Bo't's late, ain't it?"

John assented, and a wizened old man passed him and approached the
counter.

"Howdy, Frisk," he mumbled. "Got to have some more terbacca. Gimme a
package o' Peace and Good Will, will ye?"

The proprietor beamed sympathetically. "Ye'll have to try somethin'
else this time, Uncle Ben," he drawled pleasantly. "I'm sorry, but the
fact is my Peace and Good Will's mouldy."

Dunham smiled, and looked over his shoulder at Benny. He was still
cracking his heels gently against the flour barrel. The evening boat
must be in soon, and then the boy would be out on the dock, lost in the
excitement of its arrival. Dunham strolled up to him. "Good-evening,
Benny."

He was surprised at the unresponsive air with which the boy nodded.
John was aware of having recently completed the capture of Benny's
heart by replying to questions concerning the gold football on his fob;
but to-night there was no lighting of the young sailor's face.

"Come outside, will you, Benny? I want to speak to you."

To John's further amazement, Benny, instead of bounding off the barrel,
complied with reluctance; but they were finally out of doors in the
velvet darkness that preceded the moonrise.

"I want to know where you left Miss Sylvia," said John Dunham
imperiously.

The boy hesitated a minute, then spoke grudgingly. "At the Tide Mill."

"How was she?"

"Able to walk up to the house," responded the boy irritatingly.

"Look here,"--Dunham laid a heavy hand on the other's shoulder, and
Benny struggled vainly to shake it off. "What's the matter with you?
Was Miss Sylvia ill? I didn't see her before she went."

Benny ceased his futile writhing. "Oh, you kin hold on to me, I
s'pose," he said sullenly; "but I don't care if you have got a muscle,
and kin stay under water, and play football. Gosh durn you fer makin'
her cry, I say."

The vim with which Benn