“Can’t stand you?  Your mother used to say?  What do you mean, Mr. Winslow?”

“I mean—­I mean you ain’t goin’ because I used to wash my face out in the yard, and—­and holler and sing mornin’s and look so everlastin’ homely—­and—­and be what everybody calls a town crank—­ and—­”

“Mr. Winslow!  Please!”

“And—­and you and Babbie would stay right here if—­if you thought I wanted you to?”

“Why, of course.  But you don’t, do you?”

Before Jed could answer the outside door was thrown open without knock or preliminary warning, and Captain Sam Hunniwell, dripping water like a long-haired dog after a bath, strode into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, nodding to Mrs. Armstrong.  Then, turning to the maker of windmills:  “You’re the feller I’m lookin’ for,” he declared.  “Is what Philander Hardy told me just now true?  Is it?”

Jed was dreamily staring out of the window.  He was smiling, a seraphic smile.  Receiving no reply, Captain Sam angrily repeated his question.  “Is it true?” he demanded.

“No-o, no, I guess ’tisn’t.  I’d know better if I knew what he told you.”

“He told me that Mrs. Armstrong here was movin’ back to Luretta Smalley’s to-day.  Jed Winslow, have you been big enough fool—­”

Jed held up the big hand.

“Yes,” he said.  “I always am.”

“You always are—­what?”

“A big enough fool.  Sam, what is a lease?”

“What is a lease?”

“Yes.  Never mind tellin’ me; show me.  Make out a lease of this house to Mrs. Armstrong here.”

Mrs. Armstrong was, naturally, rather surprised.

“Why, Mr. Winslow,” she cried; “what are you talking about?  We haven’t agreed upon rent or—­”

“Yes, we have.  We’ve agreed about everything.  Er—­Babbie, you get your things on and come on over to the shop.  You and I mustn’t be sittin’ ’round here any longer.  We’ve got to get to work.”

CHAPTER VII

And so, in as sudden a fashion as he had granted the “month’s trial,” did Jed grant the permanent tenure of his property.  The question of rent, which might easily have been, with the ordinary sort of landlord, a rock in the channel, turned out to be not even a pebble.  Captain Hunniwell, who was handling the business details, including the making out of the lease, was somewhat troubled.

“But, Jed,” he protested, “you’ve got to listen to me.  She won’t pay forty a month, although she agrees with me that for a furnished house in a location like this it’s dirt cheap.  Of course she’s takin’ it for all the year, which does make consider’ble difference, although from May to October, when the summer folks are here, I could get a hundred and forty a month just as easy as . . .  Eh?  I believe you ain’t heard a word I’ve been sayin’.  Gracious king!  If you ain’t enough to drive the mate of a cattle boat into gettin’ religion!  Do you hear me?  I say she won’t pay—­”