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"Then why did you take it a'tall, I want'a know?" Billy took his eyes from the pair of dead ducks, floating shoreward and turned wonderingly to his companion. "Worse than usual tonight, isn't it?" he asked in kindly tones..

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Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their mail and to make necessary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight to his satisfaction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his tracks to fasten his admiring gaze on the rambling, unpainted building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now. He bowed with the vehemence of a man who butts at another, struck the floor hard with his staff, and rolled out on legs that showed themselves more expeditious than his years seemed to promise. Above, on the placid slope of down close against Old Harbour Town, hung a straggler building or two, lonely in importance, or consequential in some trifling pomp of land; at the point of cliff on Old Harbour House side, a low, pursy lighthouse wheezed at night a[Pg 2] yellow gleam that was a home-greeting or God-speed to some five score fishermen who dredged in these and further waters; and on the brow confronting the lighthouse a venerable windmill revolved its vans against the sky. Billy laughed. "Come along as far as the clearin', Harry," he invited, "and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you?".