"You've got her mouth," she said slowly. "Yes, you've got her mouth. Her hair and eyes were brown and yours are black, but—but I THINK you look like her. Oh, I did so want you to! May I kiss you, Albert? I'm your grandmother, you know."

With embarrassed shyness he leaned forward while she put her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. As he straightened again he became aware that the big man had entered the room and was regarding him intently beneath a pair of shaggy gray eyebrows. Mrs. Snow turned.

"Oh, Zelotes," she cried, "he's got Janie's mouth, don't you think so? And he DOES look like her, doesn't he?"

Her husband shook his head. "Maybe so, Mother," he said, with a half smile. "I ain't a great hand for locatin' who folks look like. How are you, boy? Glad to see you. I'm your grandfather, you know."

They shook hands, while each inspected and made a mental estimate of the other. Albert saw a square, bearded jaw, a firm mouth, gray eyes with many wrinkles at the corners, and a shock of thick gray hair. The eyes had a way of looking straight at you, through you, as if reading your thoughts, divining your motives and making a general appraisal of you and them.

Captain Zelotes Snow, for his part, saw a tall young fellow, slim and straight, with black curly hair, large black eyes and regular features. A good-looking boy, a handsome boy—almost too handsome, perhaps, or with just a touch of the effeminate in the good looks. The captain's glance took in the well-fitting suit of clothes, the expensive tie, the gold watch chain.

"Humph!" grunted Captain Zelotes. "Well, your grandma and I are glad to have you with us. Let me see, Albert—that's your right name, ain't it—Albert?"

Something in his grandfather's looks or tone aroused a curious feeling in the youth. It was not a feeling of antagonism, exactly, but more of defiance, of obstinacy. He felt as if this big man, regarding him so keenly from under the heavy brows, was looking for faults, was expecting to find something wrong, might almost be disappointed if he did not find it. He met the gaze for a moment, the color rising to his cheeks.

"My name," he said deliberately, "is Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza."

Mrs. Snow uttered a little exclamation. "Oh!" she ejaculated. And then added: "Why—why, I thought—we—we understood 'twas 'Albert.' We didn't know there was—we didn't know there was any more to it. What did you say it was?"

Her grandson squared his shoulders. "Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza," he repeated. "My father"—there was pride in his voice now—"my father's name was Miguel Carlos. Of course you knew that."

He spoke as if all creation must have known it. Mrs. Snow looked helplessly at her husband. Captain Zelotes rubbed his chin.

"We—ll," he drawled dryly, "I guess likely we'll get along with 'Albert' for a spell. I cal'late 'twill come more handy to us Cape folks. We're kind of plain and everyday 'round here. Sapper's ready, ain't it, Mother? Al must be hungry. I'm plaguey sure I am."

"But, Zelotes, maybe he'd like to go up to his bedroom first. He's been ridin' a long ways in the cars and maybe he'd like to wash up or change his clothes?"

"Change his clothes! Lord sakes, Olive, what would he want to change his clothes this time of night for? You don't want to change your clothes, do you, boy?"

"No, sir, I guess not."

"Sartin sure you don't. Want to wash? There's a basin and soap and towel right out there in the kitchen."

He pointed to the kitchen door. At that moment the door was partially opened and a brisk feminine voice from behind it inquired: "How about eatin'? Are you all ready in there?"

It was Captain Snow who answered.

"You bet we are, Rachel!" he declared. "All ready and then some. Trot her out. Sit down, Mother. Sit down, Al. Now then, Rachel, all aboard."

Rachel, it appeared, was the owner of the brisk feminine voice just mentioned. She was brisk herself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy and very business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and the dishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest, to the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down at that table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors.

"Albert," she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house. Rachel, this is my grandson, Albert—er—Speranza."

She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis did not attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed: "Is that so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss?"

Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so decidedly limited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His grandfather saved him the trouble.

"Lord sakes, Rachel," he declared, "he ain't seen more'n three square foot of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirt outdoors to-night. Well, Al—Albert, I mean, how are you on mackerel? Pretty good stowage room below decks? About so much, eh?"

Mrs. Snow interrupted.

"Zelotes," she said reprovingly, "ain't you forgettin' somethin'?"

"Eh? Forgettin'? Heavens to Betsy, so I am! Lord, we thank thee for these and all other gifts, Amen. What did I do with the fork; swallow it?"

As long as he lives Albert Speranza will not forget that first meal in the home of his grandparents. It was so strange, so different from any other meal he had ever eaten. The food was good and there was an abundance of it, but the surroundings were so queer. Instead of the well-ordered and sedate school meal, here all the eatables from fish to pie were put upon the table at the same time and the servant—or housekeeper, which to his mind were one and the same—sat down, not only to eat with the family, but to take at least an equal part in the conversation. And the conversation itself was so different. Beginning with questions concerning his own journey from the New York town where the school was located, it at length reached South Harniss and there centered about the diminutive person of Laban Keeler, his loquacious and tuneful rescuer from the platform of the railway station.

"Where are your things, Albert?" asked Mrs. Snow. "Your trunk or travelin' bag, or whatever you had, I mean?"

"My trunks are coming by express," began the boy. Captain Zelotes interrupted him.

"Your trunks?" he repeated. "Got more'n one, have you?"

"Why—why, yes, there are three. Mr. Holden—he is the headmaster, you know—"

"Eh? Headmaster? Oh, you mean the boss teacher up there at the school? Yes, yes. Um-hm."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Holden says the trunks should get here in a few days."

Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, made the next remark. "Did I understand you to say you had THREE trunks?" she demanded.

"Why, yes."

"Three trunks for one boy! For mercy sakes, what have you got in 'em?"

"Why—why, my things. My clothes and—and—everything."

"Everything, or just about, I should say. Goodness gracious me, when I go up to Boston I have all I can do to fill up one trunk. And I'm bigger'n you are—bigger 'round, anyway."

There was no doubt about that. Captain Zelotes laughed shortly.

"That statement ain't what I'd call exaggerated, Rachel," he declared. "Every time I see you and Laban out walkin' together he has to keep on the sunny side or be in a total eclipse. And, by the way, speakin' of Laban—Say, son, how did you and he get along comin' down from the depot?"

"All right. It was pretty dark."

"I'll bet you! Laban wasn't very talkative, was he?"

"Why, yes, sir, he talked a good deal but he sang most of the time."

This simple statement appeared to cause a most surprising sensation. The Snows and their housekeeper looked at each other. Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair and whistled.

"Whew!" he observed. "Hum! Sho! Thunderation!"

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed his wife.

Mrs. Ellis, the