you don't really need the money, perhaps, but--well, to be real
honest, I want these folks to stay in Orham--they're the kind of
folks the town needs--and I want 'em contented. I think they would
be contented in your house. You let those Davidsons from Chicago
have the place that summer, but you've never let anybody so much as
consider it since. What's the real reason? You've told me as much
as a dozen, but I'll bet anything you've never told me the real
one. 'Twas somethin' the Davidsons did you didn't like--but what?"

Jed's rocking back and forth on the box became almost energetic and
his troubled expression more than ever apparent.

"Now--now, Sam," he begged, "I've told you all about that ever and
ever so many times. There wasn't anything, really."

"There was, too. What was it?"

Jed suffered in silence for two or three minutes.

"What was the real reason? Out with it," persisted Captain
Hunniwell.

"Well--well, 'twas--'twas--" desperately, "'twas the squeakin' and--
and squealin'."

"Squeakin' and squealin'? Gracious king! What are you talkin'
about?"

"Why--the--the mills, you know. The mills and vanes outside on--on
the posts and the fence. They squeaked and--and sometimes they