“Poundin’ him, eh?” Smiles broke over the skipper’s face.  “See how I’m softened, little woman!” he cried.  “Time was when I would have chased a man that made faces at me as he done just now, and I’d have pegged him into the ground.  But love has done a lot for me in makin’ me decent.  If I keep on, I’ll forgit I’ve got two fists—­and that’s something for a shipmaster to say, now, I’ll tell ye!  A man has got to git into love himself to know how it feels.”

Sudden reflection illuminated his face.

“Ain’t old pickalilly—­that brother of yourn—­ever been in love?” he asked.

“Why—­why,” she stammered, “he’s been in—­well, sometimes now I think perhaps it ain’t love, knowin’ what I do now—­but he’s been engaged to Pharlina Pike goin’ on fifteen years.  And he’s been showin’ her attentions longer’n that.  But since I’ve met you and found out how folks don’t usually wait so long if they—­they’re in love—­well, I’ve—­”

“Fifteen years!” he snorted.  “What is he waitin’ for—­for her to grow up?”

“Land sakes, no!  She’s about as old as he is.  She’s old Seth Pike’s daughter, and since Seth died she has run the Pike farm with hired help, and has done real well at it.  Long engagements ain’t thought strange of ’round here.  Why, there’s—­”

“Fifteen years!” he repeated.  “That’s longer’n old Methus’lum courted.”

“But Gideon has been so busy and away from home so much in the woods, and Pharlina ain’t been in no great pucker, seein’ that the farm was gettin’ on well, and—­”

“There ain’t no excuse for him,” broke in the Cap’n, with vigor.  He was greatly interested in this new discovery.  His eyes gleamed.  “‘Tain’t usin’ her right.  She can’t step up to him and set the day.  ’Tain’t woman’s sp’ere, that ain’t.  I didn’t ask you to set the day.  I set it myself.  I told you to be ready.”

Her cheek flushed prettily at the remembrance of that impetuous courtship, when even her dread of her ogre brother had been overborne by the Cap’n’s masterful manner, once she had confessed her love.

“I know what love is myself,” went on the Cap’n.  “He don’t know; that’s what the trouble is with him.  He ain’t been waked up.  Let him be waked up good and plenty, and he won’t be standin’ around makin’ faces at us.  I see what’s got to be done to make a happy home of this.  You leave it to me.”

They saw the Colonel stamping in their direction from the barn.

“You run into the house, Louada Murilla,” directed the Cap’n, “and leave me have a word with him.”

The Colonel was evidently as anxious as the Cap’n for a word.

“Say, Sproul,” he gritted, as he came under the tree, “I’ve got an offer for the stumpage on township number eight.  Seein’ that you’re in equal partners with me on my sister’s money,” he sneered, “I reckon I’ve got to give ye figures and prices, and ask for a permit to run my own business.”

“Seems ‘most as if you don’t enj’y talkin’ business with me,” observed the Cap’n, with a meek wistfulness that was peculiarly aggravating to his grouchy partner.