the Cape Cod Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in debilitated health,"
whatever that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air
and seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air and rest, not to mention
seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about the new villa,
and no one knew that better than I, condemned to live within the
square. But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen the spot, with malice
aforethought, the place for her was a home for the feeble minded. At
least, that was my opinion on that particular morning.

It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and look
across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's residence.
What caught my attention was that the place looked to be inhabited. The
windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke was issuing from one of
the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and apron was standing by the
servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, bulky man with a yachting cap
on the back of his head and a cigar in his mouth was talking with Asa
Peters, the boss carpenter, by the big door of the barn.

I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed at
our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor dory
into commission for the summer. But now I remembered that Lute had said
something about the Coltons being expected, or having arrived, and that
he seemed much excited over it. He would have said more, but Dorinda had
pounced on him and sent him out to shut up the chickens, which gave
him the excuse to play truant and take his evening's trip to the
post-office. It was plain that the Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely the
stout man with the yachting cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself. Well,
I didn't envy him in his present situation. He had my pity, if anything.

Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself helped