Instead he went out and hoisted at the top of the short pole on the
edge of the bluff the flag he had set there on the day when the
United States declared war against the Hun. He hoisted it every
fine morning and he took it in every night.
He stood for a moment, watching the red, white and blue flapping
bravely in the morning sunshine, then he went back into his little
kitchen at the rear of the workshop and set about cooking his
breakfast. The kitchen was about as big as a good-sized packing
box and Jed, standing over the oilstove, could reach any shelf in
sight without moving. He cooked his oatmeal porridge, boiled his
egg and then sat down at the table in the next room--his combined
living and dining-room and not very much bigger than the kitchen--
to eat. When he had finished, he washed the dishes, walked up to
the post office for the mail and then, entering the workshop, took
up the paint brush and the top sailor-man of the pile beside him
and began work. This, except on Sundays, was his usual morning
routine. It varied little, except that he occasionally sawed or
whittled instead of painted, or, less occasionally still, boxed
some of his wares for shipment.
During the forenoon he had some visitors. A group of summer people
from the hotel came in and, after pawing over and displacing about
half of the movable stock, bought ten or fifteen dollars' worth and
departed.
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