bucket, long towards sundown, an' set twiddlin' the spigot to the
scuttle-butt same's ef 'twuz a cow's bag. He's thet much farmer.
Well, Penn an' he they ran the farm - up Exeter way, 'twuz. Uncle
Salters he sold it this spring to a jay from Boston as wanted to
build a summerhaouse, an' he got a heap for it. Well, them two
loonies scratched along till, one day, Penn's church he'd belonged
to - the Moravians - found out where he wuz drifted an' layin',
an' wrote to Uncle Salters. 'Never heerd what they said exactly;
but Uncle Salters was mad. He's a 'piscopalian mostly - but he
jest let 'em hev it both sides o' the bow, 'sif he was a Baptist,
an' sez he warn't goin' to give up Penn to any blame Moravian
connection in Pennsylvania or anywheres else. Then he come to dad,
towin' Penn, - thet was two trips back, - an' sez he an' Penn must
fish a trip fer their health. 'Guess he thought the Moravians
wouldn't hunt the Banks fer Jacob Boller. Dad was agreeable, fer
Uncle Salters he'd been fishin' off an' on fer thirty years, when
he warn't inventin' patent manures, an' he took quarter-share in
the 'We're Here'; an' the trip done Penn so much good, dad made a
habit o' takin' him. Some day, dad sez, he'll remember his wife
an' kids an' Johnstown, an' then, like's not, he'll die, dad sez.
Don't yer talk about Johnstown ner such things to Penn, 'r Uncle
Salters he'll heave ye overboard."

"Poor Penn!" murmured Harvey. "I shouldn't ever have thought Uncle
Salters cared for him by the look of 'em together."

"I like Penn, though; we all do," said Dan. "We ought to ha' give
him a tow, but I wanted to tell ye first."

They were close to the schooner now, the other boats a little