his own hook, as that what's-his-name--Gab--says, and volunteered
and got himself enlisted into the army?"

"Shouldn't wonder, Sam."

"Well, my gracious king! Why--why--no wonder old Babbitt looked as
if the main topsail yard had fell on him. Tut, tut, tut! Well, I
declare! Now what do you suppose put him up to doin' that?"

Winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked up the wooden
sailor and the paint brush.

"Well, Sam," he said, slowly, "Leander's a pretty good boy."

"Yes, I suppose he is, but he's Phin Babbitt's son."

"I know, but don't it seem to you as if some sorts of fathers was
like birthmarks and bow legs; they come early in life and a feller
ain't to blame for havin' 'em? Sam, you ain't sorry the boy's
volunteered, are you?"

"Sorry! I should say not! For one thing his doin' it makes my job
on the Exemption Board a mighty sight easier. There won't be any
row there with Phineas now."

"No-o, I thought 'twould help that. But that wan't the whole
reason, Sam."

"Reason for what? What do you mean?"