"She ain't!" he cried. "I'd like to know why not! If she ain't twice as smart as the run of young ones 'round here then--Humph! And she's kept after school! Well, now; I won't have it! There's enough time for studyin' without wearin' out her brains after hours. Oh, I guess you're mistaken."

"No, we ain't. I tell you, Whit, if I was you I'd make a fuss about this. She's a smart child, Bos'n is; I never see a smarter. And she ain't any too strong."

"That's so, she ain't." The idea that Emily's health was "delicate" had become a fixed fact in the minds of the captain and the "Board." It made a good excuse for the systematic process of "spoiling" the girl, which the indulgent three were doing their best to carry on.

"I wouldn't let her be kept, Cy," urged Bailey. "Why don't you go right off and see Phoebe and settle this thing? You've got a right to talk to her. She wouldn't be teacher if it wasn't for you."

Asaph added his arguments to those of Mr. Bangs. Captain Cy, carried away by his firm belief that Bos'n was a paragon of all that was brilliant and good, finally yielded.

"All right!" he exclaimed. "Come on! That poor little thing shan't be put upon by n.o.body."

The trio marched majestically down the hill. As they neared the schoolhouse Bailey's courage began to fail. Miss Dawes was a boarder at his house, and he feared consequences should Keturah learn of his interference.

"I--I guess you don't need me," he stammered. "The three of us 'll scare that teacher woman most to death. And she's so little and meek, you know. If I should lose my temper and rare up I might say somethin' that would hurt her feelin's. I'll set on the fence and wait for you and Ase, Whit."

Mr. Tidditt's scornful comments concerning "white feathers" and "backsliders" had no effect. Mr. Bangs perched himself on the fence.

"Give it to her, fellers!" he called after them.

"Talk Dutch to her! Let her know that there's one child she can't abuse."

At the foot of the steps Asaph paused.

"Say, Cy," he whispered, "don't you think I better not go in? It ain't really my business, you know, and--and--Well, I'm on the s'lectmen and she might be frightened if she see me pouncin' down on her. 'Tain't as if I was just a common man. I'll go and set along of Bailey and you go in and talk quiet to her. She'd feel so sort of ashamed if there was anyone else to hear the rakin' over--hey?"

"Now, see here, Ase," expostulated the captain, "I don't like to do this all by myself! Besides, 'twas you chaps put me up to it. You ain't goin'

to pull out of the race and leave me to go over the course alone, are you? Come on! what are, you afraid of?"

His companion hotly denied that he was "afraid" of anything. He had all sorts of arguments to back his decision. At last Captain Cy lost patience.

"Well, BE a skulk, if you want to!" he declared. "I've set out to see this thing through, and I'm goin' to do it. Only," he muttered, as he entered the downstairs vestibule, "I wish I didn't feel quite so much as if I was stealin' hens' eggs."

Miss Dawes herself opened the door in response to his knock.

"Oh, it's you, Cap'n Whittaker," she said. "Come in, please."

Captain Cy entered the schoolroom. It was empty, save for the teacher and himself and one little girl, who, seated at a desk, was writing busily. She looked up and blushed a vivid red. The little girl was Bos'n.

"Sit down, Cap'n," said Miss Phoebe, indicating the visitor's chair.

"What was it you wanted to see me about?"

The captain accepted the invitation to be seated, but he did not immediately reply to Miss Dawes's question. He dropped his hat on the floor, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and then observed that it was pretty summery weather for so late in the fall. The teacher admitted the truth of his a.s.sertion and waited for him to continue.

"I--I s'pose school's pretty full, now that cranb'ryin' 's over," said Captain Cy.

"Yes, pretty full."

"Gettin' along first rate with the scholars, I hear."

"Yes."

This was a most unpromising beginning, really no beginning at all. The captain cleared his throat, set his teeth, and, without looking at his companion, dove headlong into the business which had brought him there.

"Miss Dawes," he said, "I--I s'pose you know that Bos'n--I mean Emily there--is livin' at my house and that I'm taking care of her for--for the present."

The lady smiled.

"Yes," she said. "I gathered as much from what you said when we first met."

She herself had said one or two things on that occasion. Captain Cy remembered them distinctly.

"Yes, yes," he said hastily. "Well, my doin's that time wasn't exactly the best sample of the care, I will say. Wan't even a fair sample, maybe. I try to do my best with the child, long as she stays with me, and--er--and--er--I'm pretty particular about her health."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yes. Now, Miss Phoebe, I appreciate what you did for Bos'n and me that Sunday, and I'm thankful for it. I've tried to thank--"

"I know. Please don't say any more about it. I imagine there is something else you want to say, isn't there?"

"Why, yes, there is. I--I heard that Emmie had been kept after school. I didn't believe it, of course, but I thought I'd run up and see what--"

He hesitated. The teacher finished the sentence for him.

"To see if it was true?" she said. "It is. I told her to stay and write fifty lines."

"You did? Well, now that's what I wanted to speak to you about. Course I ain't interferin' in your affairs, you know, but I just wanted to explain about Bos'n--Emmie, I mean. She ain't a common child; she's got too much head for the rest of her. If you'd lived with her same as I have you'd appreciate it. Her health's delicate."

"Is it? She seems strong enough to me. I haven't noticed any symptoms."

"Course not, else you wouldn't have kept her in. But _I_ know, and I think it's my duty to tell you. Never mind if she can't do quite so much writin'. I'd rather she wouldn't; she might bust a blood vessel or somethin'. Such things HAVE happened, to extry smart young ones. You just let her trot along home with me now and--"

"Cap'n Whittaker," Miss Dawes had risen to her feet with a determined expression on her face.

"Yes, ma'am," said the captain, rising also.

"Cap'n Whittaker," repeated the teacher, "I'm very glad that you called.

I've been rather expecting you might, because of certain things I have heard."

"You heard? What was it you heard--if you don't mind my askin'?"

"No, I don't, because I think we must have an understanding about Emily.

I have heard that you allow her to do as she pleases at home; in other words, that you are spoiling her, and--"

"SPOILIN' her! _I_ spoilin' her? Who told you such an unlikely yarn as that? I ain't the kind to spoil anybody. Why, I'm so strict that I'm ashamed of myself sometimes."

He honestly believed he was. Miss Phoebe calmly continued.

"Of course, what you do at home is none of my business. I shouldn't mention it anyhow, if you hadn't called, because I pay very little attention to town talk, having lived in this county all my life and knowing what gossip amounts to. I like Emily; she's a pretty good little girl and well behaved, as children go. But this you must understand. She can't be spoiled here. She whispered this afternoon, twice. She has been warned often, and knows the rule. I kept her after school because she broke that rule, and if she breaks it again, she will be punished again.

I kept the Edwards boy two hours yesterday and--"