I ain't blind to the fact that once Jason was under the sod, 'bout every widower in town sorter spruced up an' began to take notice; an' before a week was out every bachelor had bought a new necktie. Eben Snow told me so an' he'd oughter know bein' the one that sells 'em."

"Abbie!"

"It's true. An' why, pray, shouldn't the men cast sheep's eyes at Marcia? Can you blame 'em? She'd be one wife in a hundred could a body win her. There ain't a thing she can't do from shinglin' a barn down to trimmin' a hat. She's the match of any old salt at sailin' a boat an' can pull an oar strong as the best of 'em. Along with that she can sew, cook, an' mend; plow an' plant; paper a room. An' all the time, whatever she's doin', she'd bewitch you with her smile an' her pretty ways. It's a marvel to me how she's kept out of matrimony long's this with so many men millerin' 'round her."

"She certainly's takin' her time. She don't 'pear to be in no hurry to get a husband," smiled Rebecca.

"Why should she be? Her parents left her with money in the bank an' the Homestead to boot, an' Marcia was smart enough not to let Jason make ducks and drakes of her property. She dealt out to him what she thought he better have an' held fast to the rest. As a result, she's uncommon well-off."

"All men mightn't fancy havin' a wife hold the tiller, though."

Rebecca Gill pursed her lips.

"Any man Marcia Howe married would have to put up with it," Abbie asserted, biting off a needleful of thread with a snap of her fine white teeth. "Marcia's always been captain of the ship an' she always will be."

Gathering up her mending, Rebecca rose.

"Well, I can't stay here settlin' Marcia's future," she laughed. "I've got to be goin' home. Lemmy'll be wantin' his supper. He can't, though, accuse me of fritterin' the afternoon away. I've darned every pair of stockin's in this bag an' there was scores of 'em. You turn off such things quicker when you're in good company."

A scuffling on the steps and the sound of men's voices interrupted the words.

The kitchen door swung open and Zenas Henry's lanky form appeared on the threshold. Behind him, like a foreshortened shadow, tagged his crony, Lemuel Gill.

"Well, well, 'Becca, if here ain't Lemmy come to fetch you!" Abbie cried. "'Fraid your wife had deserted you, Lemmy? She ain't. She was just this minute settin' out for home."

"I warn't worryin' none," grinned Lemuel.

"What you two been doin'?" Abbie inquired of her husband.

"Oh, nothin' much," answered the big, loose-jointed fellow, shuffling into the room. "We've been settin' out, drinkin' in the air."

The carelessness of the reply was a trifle overdone, and instantly aroused the keen-eyed Abbie's suspicions.

She glanced into his face.

"Guess we're goin' to have rain," he ventured.

"I wouldn't wonder," rejoined Lemuel Gill.

Humming to prove he was entirely at his ease, Zenas Henry ambled to the window and looked out.

"Where you been settin'?" demanded Abbie.

"Settin'? Oh, Lemmy an' me took sort of a little jaunt along the shore. Grand day to be abroad. I never saw a finer. The sea's blue as a corn-flower, an' the waves are rollin' in, an' rollin' in, an'—"

"They generally are," Abbie interrupted dryly. "Just where'd you particularly notice 'em?"

Lemuel Gill stepped into the breach.

"'Twas this way," began he. "Zenas Henry an' me thought we'd take a bit of a meander. We'd been to the postoffice an' was standin' in the doorway when we spied Charlie Eldridge goin' by with a fish-pole—"

"Charlie Eldridge—the bank cashier?" Rebecca echoed. "But he ain't no fisherman. What on earth was he doin' with a fish-pole?"

"That's what we wondered," said Lemuel.

"Charlie Eldridge with a fish-pole," repeated Abbie. "Mercy! Where do you s'pose he was goin'?"

"I never in all my life knew of Charlie Eldridge goin' a-fishin'," Rebecca rejoined. "Not that he ain't got a perfect right to fish if he wants to outside bankin' hours. But—"

"But Charlie fishin'!" interrupted Abbie, cutting her friend short. "Why, he'd no more dirty his lily-white hands puttin' a squirmin' worm on a fish-hook than he'd cut off his head. In fact, I don't believe he'd know how. You didn't, likely, see where he went."

"Wal—er—yes. We did."

Zenas Henry wheeled about.

Clearing his throat, he darted a glance at Lemuel.

"Havin' completed the business that took us to the store—" he began.

"Havin', in short, asked for the mail an' found there warn't none," laughed Abbie, mischievously.

Zenas Henry ignored the comment.

"We walked along in Charlie's wake," he continued.

"Followed him?"

"Wal—somethin' of the sort. You might, I s'pose, call it follerin'," Zenas Henry admitted shamefacedly. "Anyhow, Lemmy an' me trudged along behind him at what we considered a suitable distance."

"Where'd he go?" Rebecca urged, her face alight with curiosity.

"Wal, Charlie swung along, kinder whistlin' to himself, an' ketchin' his pole in the trees and brushes 'til he come to the fork of the road. Then he made for the shore."

"So he was really goin' fishin'," mused Abbie, a suggestion of disappointment in her voice.

"He certainly was. Oh, Charlie was goin' fishin' right 'nough. He was aimed for deep water," grinned Zenas Henry.

"He wouldn't ketch no fish in Wilton Harbor," sniffed Rebecca contemptuously. "Wouldn't you think he'd 'a' known that?"

"He warn't," observed Zenas Henry mildly, "figgerin' to. In fact, 'twarn't to Wilton Harbor he was goin'."

With a simultaneous start, both women looked up.

"No-siree. Bank cashier or not, Charlie warn't that much of a numskull. He was primed to fish in more propitious waters."

"Zenas Henry, do stop beatin' round the bush an' say what you have to say. If you're goin' to tell us where Charlie Eldridge went, out with it. If not, stop talkin' about it," burst out his wife sharply.

"Ain't I tellin' you fast as I can? Why get so het up? If you must know an' can't wait another minute, Charlie went fishin' in Crocker's Cove."

"Crocker's Cove!" cried two feminine voices.

Zenas Henry's only reply was a deliberate nod.

"Crocker's Cove?" gasped Abbie.

"Crocker's Cove?" echoed Rebecca.

"Crocker's Cove," nodded Zenas Henry.

"Mercy on us! Why—! Why, he—he must 'a' been goin'"—began Abbie.

"—to see The Widder," Rebecca interrupted, completing the sentence.

"I'd no notion he was tendin' up to her," Abbie said.

"Wal, he warn't 'xactly tendin' up to her—least-way, not today. Not what you could really call tendin' up," contradicted Zenas Henry, a twinkle in his eye. "Rather, I'd say 'twas t'other way round. Wouldn't you, Lemmy? Wouldn't you say that instead 'twas she who tended up to him?"

Sagaciously, Lemuel bowed.

The tapping of Abbie's foot precipitated the remainder of the story.

"You see," drawled on Zenas Henry, "no sooner had Charlie got into the boat an' pulled out into the channel than he had the usual beginner's luck an' hooked a stragglin' bluefish—one of the pert kind that ain't fer bein' hauled in. Law! You'd oughter seen that critter pull! He 'most had Charlie out of the boat.

"I shouted to him to hang on an' so did Lemmy. We couldn't help it. The idiot had no more notion what to do than the man in the moon.

"In our excitement, we must 'a' bellered louder'n we meant to, 'cause in no time The Widder popped outer the house. She