sparkled as her glance swept Cap'n Abe's stock-in-trade--the shelves of
fly-specked canned goods and cereal packages, with soap, and starch, and
half a hundred other kitchen goods beyond; the bolts of calico, gingham,
"turkey red," and mill-ends; the piles of visored caps and boxes of
sunbonnets on the counter: the ship-lanterns, coils of rope, boathooks,
tholepins hanging in wreaths; bailers, clam hoes, buckets, and the
thousand and one articles which made the store on the Shell Road a museum
that later was sure to engage the interest of the girl.

Now, however, the clutter of the shop gained but fleeting notice from
Louise. Her gaze almost immediately fastened upon the figure of the
bewhiskered old man, with spectacles and sou'wester both pushed back on
his bald crown, who mildly looked upon her--his smile somehow impressing
Louise Grayling as almost childish, it was so kindly.

Cap'n Joab had dodged through the door after Lawford Tapp. The other
boys from The Beaches followed their leader. Old Washy Gallup and Amiel
Perdue suddenly remembered that it was almost chore time as this radiant
young woman said:

"I wish to see Mr. Abram Silt--Captain Silt. Is he here?"

"I'm him, miss," Cap'n Abe returned politely.

Milt Baker surely would have remained of all the crowd of idlers, gaping
oilily at the visitor across the top of the rusty stove, had not a shrill
feminine voice been heard outside the store,

"Is Milt Baker there? Ain't none o' you men seen him? Land sakes! he's
as hard to hold as the greased pig on Fourth o' July--an' jest 'bout as