window.

"Well, I must admit I wouldn't have thought of Captain Ben's being
en-a-mored after such a sickly piece of business. But men never know
what they want. Won't you just hand me that gum-cam-phyer bottle, now
you are up? It is on that chest of drawers behind you."

"No more they don't," returned Miss Tame, with a plaintive cadence,
taking a sniff from the camphor-bottle on the way. "However, I don't
begrutch him to her,--I don't know as I do. It will make her a good hum,
though, if she concludes to make arrangements."

Meantime, Captain Ben Lundy's head was wellnigh to Mrs. Keens's door,
for it was situated only around the first sand-hill. She lived in a
little bit of a house that looked as though it had been knocked together
for a crockery-crate, in the first place, with two windows and a rude
door thrown in as afterthoughts. In the rear of this house was another
tiny building, something like a grown-up hen-coop; and this was where
Mrs. Keens carried on the business bequeathed to her by her deceased
husband, along with five small children, and one not so small. But,
worse than that, one who was "not altogether there," as the English say.

She was about this business now, dressed in a primitive sort of bloomer,
with a wash-tub and clothes-ringer before her, and an army of
bathing-suits of every kind and color flapping wildly in the fresh sea
air at one side.

From a little farther on, mingling with the sound of the beating surf,
came the merry voices of bathers,--boarders at the great hotels on the
hill.