It was a beautiful morning when they started on their six mile
sail, or "chug," as Jed called it. Mrs. Armstrong had put up a
lunch for them, and Jed had a bucket of clams, a kettle, a pail of
milk, some crackers, onions and salt pork, the ingredients of a
possible chowder.
"Little mite late for 'longshore chowder picnics, ma'am," he said,
"but it's a westerly wind and I cal'late 'twill be pretty balmy in
the lee of the pines. Soon's it gets any ways chilly we'll be
startin' home. Wish you were goin' along, too."
Mrs. Armstrong smiled and said she wished it had been possible for
her to go, but it was not. She looked pale that morning, so it
seemed to Jed, and when she smiled it was with an obvious effort.
"You're not going without locking your kitchen door, are you, Mr.
Jed?" she asked.
Jed looked at her and at the door.
"Why," he observed, "I ain't locked that door, have I! I locked
the front one, the one to the shop, though. Did you see the sign I
tacked on the outside of it?"
"No, I didn't."
"I didn't know but you might have. I put on it: 'Closed for the
day. Inquire at Abijah Thompson's.' You see," he added, his eye
twinkling ever so little, "'Bije Thompson lives in the last house
in the village, two mile or more over to the west'ard."
"He does! Then why in the world did you tell people to inquire
there?"
"Oh, if I didn't they'd be botherin' you, probably, and I didn't
want 'em doin' that.
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