I saw a man with a little girl wandering about among
the buildings a little while ago. Was that you?"
"Ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . Tut, tut, tut! I'll have to warm
this chowder all up again now. That's too bad!"
Voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of the carpenter
and the two "identifiers." The latter, Mr. Emulous Baker and Mr.
"Squealer" Wixon, were on the broad grin.
"Yup, that's him," announced Mr. Wixon. "Hello, Shavin's! Got you
took up for a German spy, have they? That's a good one! haw, haw!"
"Do you know him?" asked the major.
"Know him?" Mr. Wixon guffawed again. "Known him all my life. He
lives over to Orham. Makes windmills and whirlagigs and such for
young-ones to play with. HE ain't any spy. His name's Jed
Winslow, but we always call him 'Shavin's,' 'count of his whittlin'
up so much good wood, you understand. Ain't that so, Shavin's?
Haw, haw!"
Jed regarded Mr. Wixon mournfully.
"Um-hm," he admitted. "I guess likely you're right, Squealer."
"I bet you! There's only one Shavin's in Orham."
Jed sighed. "There's consider'ble many squealers," he drawled;
"some in sties and some runnin' loose."
Major Grover, who had appeared to enjoy this dialogue, interrupted
it now.
"That would seem to settle the spy question," he said. "You may
go, all three of you," he added, turning to the carpenters.
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