CHAPTER V.

NEW NEIGHBORS, AND GETTING SETTLED.

The week which followed the wedding-day was an important one.

The improvements on the Morris house were pushed along in a way that astonished everybody. Every day that passed, and with every dollar's worth of work that was done, the good points of the long-neglected old mansion came out stronger and stronger.

The plans of Mrs. Kinzer had been a good while in getting ready, and she knew exactly what was best to be done at every hole and corner.

Within a few days after Ford's trip of investigation, he and his father came over from the city; and Mr. Foster speedily came to a perfect understanding with Dabney's mother.

"A very business-like, common-sense sort of a woman," the lawyer remarked to his son. "But what a great, dangling, overgrown piece of a boy that is! Still, he seems intelligent, and you may find him good company."

"No doubt of it," said Ford. "I may be useful to him too. He looks as if he could learn if he only had a fair chance."

"I should say so," responded Mr. Foster. "We must not expect too much of fellows brought up away out here, as he has been."

Ford gravely assented, and they went back to report their success to
Mrs. Foster and Annie.

There was a great surprise in store, consequently, for the people of the village. Early in the following week it was rumored from house to house,—

"The Kinzers are all a-movin' over to Ham Morris's."

And then, before the public mind had become sufficiently settled to inquire into the matter, the rumor changed itself into a piece of positive news:—

"The widder Kinzer's moved over into Ham's house, bag and baggage."

So it was; although the carpenters and painters and glaziers were still at work, and the piles of Kinzer furniture had to be stored around as best could be. Some part of them had even to be locked up over night in one of the barns.

The Kinzers, for generations, had been a trifle weak about furniture; and that was one of the reasons why there had been so little room for human beings in their house. The little parlor, indeed, had been filled until it put one in mind of a small furniture-store, with not room enough to show the stock on hand; and some of the other parts of the house required knowledge and care to walk about in them. It was bad for a small house, truly, but not so much so when the same articles were given a fair chance to spread themselves.

It was a treat to Dab to watch while the new carpets were put down, and see how much more at home and comfortable all that furniture looked, after it was moved into its new quarters. He remarked to Keziah,—

"It won't be of any use for anybody to try to sit on that sofa and play the piano. They'll have to get up and come over."

Mrs. Kinzer took good care that the house she left should speak well of her to the eyes of Mrs. Foster, when that lady came to superintend the arrival of her own household goods.

The character of these, by the way, at once convinced the village gossips that "lawyer Foster must be a good deal forehanded in money matters." And so he was, even more so than his furniture indicated.

Ford had a wonderful deal to do with the settlement of his family in their new home; and it was not until nearly the close of the week that he found time for more than an occasional glance over the north fence, although he and Dab had several times exchanged a word or two when they met each other on the road.

"Take the two farms together," his father had said to him, "and they make a really fine estate. I learn, too, that the Kinzers have other property. Your young acquaintance is likely to have a very good start in the world."

Ford had found out very nearly as much as that on his own account; but he had long since learned the uselessness of trying to teach his father any thing, however well he might succeed with ordinary people, and so he said nothing.

"Dabney," said Mrs. Kinzer, that Friday evening, "you've been a great help all the week. Suppose you take the ponies to-morrow morning, and ask young Foster out for a drive."

"Mother," exclaimed Samantha, "I shall want the ponies myself. I've some calls to make, and some shopping. Dabney will have to drive."

"No, Sam," said Dabney: "if you go out with the ponies to-morrow, you'll have my old clothes to drive you. I'll go and speak to them about it."

"What do you mean?" asked Samantha.

"I mean, with Dick Lee in them."

"That would be just as well," said Mrs. Kinzer. "The ponies are gentle enough, and Dick drives well. He'll be glad enough to go."

"Dick Lee, indeed!" began Samantha.

"A fine boy," interrupted Dab. "And he's beginning to dress well. His new clothes fit him beautifully. All he really needs is a shirt, and I'll give him one. Mine are getting too small."

Samantha's fingers fidgeted a little with the tidy they were holding; but Mrs. Kinzer said composedly,—

"Well, Dabney, I've been thinking about it. You ought not to be tied down all the while. Suppose you take next week pretty much to yourself: Samantha won't want the ponies every day. The other horses have all got to work, or I'd let you have one of them."

Dabney got up, for want of a better answer, and walked over to where his mother was sitting, and gave the thoughtful matron a good sounding kiss.

At the same time he could not help thinking,—

"This comes of Ham Morris and my new rig."

"There, Dabney, that'll do," said his mother; "but how'll you spend
Saturday?"

"Guess I'll take Ford Foster out in the bay, a-crabbing, if he'll go," replied Dabney. "I'll run over and ask him."

It was not too late, and he was out of the house before there was any chance for further remarks from the girls.

"Now," he muttered, as he walked along, "I'll have to see old lawyer Foster, and Mrs. Foster, and I don't know who all besides. I don't like that."

Just as he came to the north fence, however, he was hailed by a clear, wide-awake voice,—

"Dab Kinzer, is that you?"

"Guess so," said Dab: "is that you, Ford?"

"I was just going over to your house," said Ford.

"Well, so was I just coming over to see you. I've been too busy all the week, but they've let up on me at last."

"I've got our family nearly settled," replied Ford; "and I thought I'd ask if you wouldn't like to go out on the bay with me to-morrow. Teach you to catch crabs."

Dabney drew a long, astonished sort of whistle; but he finished it with,—

"That's about what I was thinking of. There's plenty of crabs, and I've got a tip-top boat. We won't want a heavy one for just us two."

"All right, then. We'll begin on crabs, but some other day we'll go for bigger fish. What are you going to do next week?"

"Got it all to myself," said Dab. "We can have all sorts of a good time.
We can have the ponies, too, when we want them."

"That's about as good as it knows how to be," responded the young gentleman from the city. "I'd like to explore the country. You're going to have a nice place of it, over there, before you get through. Only, if I'd had the planning of that house, I'd have set it back farther. Too much room all round it. Not enough trees either."

Dab came stoutly to the defence of not only that house, but of Long-Island architecture generally, and was fairly overwhelmed, for the first time in his life, by a flood of big words from a boy of his own age.

He could have eaten up Ford Foster, if properly cooked. He felt sure of that. But he was no match for him on the building question. On his way back to his new home, however, after the discussion had lasted long enough, he found himself inquiring,—

"That's all very nice, but what can he teach me about crabs? We'll see about that to-morrow."

Beyond a doubt, the crab question was of special importance; but one of far greater consequence to Dab Kinzer's future was undergoing discussion, at that very hour, hundreds of miles away.

Quite a little knot of people there was, in a hotel parlor; and while the blooming Miranda, now Mrs. Morris, was taking her share of talk very well with the ladies, Ham was every bit as busy with a couple of elderly gentlemen.

"It's just as I say, Mr. Morris," said one of the latter, with a superfluous show of energy: "there's no better institution of its kind in the country than Grantley Academy. I send my own boys there; and I've just written about it to my brother-in-law, Foster, the New-York lawyer. He'll have his boy there this fall. No better place in the country, sir."

"But how about the expenses, Mr. Hart?" asked Ham.

"Fees are just what I told you, sir, a mere nothing. As for board, all I pay for my boys is three dollars a week. All they want to eat, sir, and good accommodations. Happy as larks, sir, all the time. Cheap, sir, cheap."

If Ham Morris had the slightest idea of going to school at a New-England academy, Miranda's place in the improved house was likely to wait for her; for he had a look on his face of being very nearly convinced.

She did not seem at all disturbed, however; and probably she knew that her husband was not taking up the school question on his own account.

Nevertheless, that was the reason why it might have been interesting for Dab Kinzer, and even for his knowing neighbor, to have added themselves to the company Ham and Miranda had fallen in with on their wedding-tour.

Both of the boys had a different kind of thinking on hand; and that night Dab dreamed that a gigantic crab was trying to pull Ford Foster out of the boat, while the latter calmly remarked to him,—

"There, my young friend, did you ever see anything just like that before?"

CHAPTER VI.

CRABS, BOYS, AND A BOAT-WRECK.

That Saturday morning was a sad one for poor Dick Lee.

His mother, the previous night, carefully locked up his elegant apparel, the gift of Mr. Dabney Kinzer. It was done after Dick was in bed; and, when daylight came again, he found only his old clothes by the bedside.

It was a hard thing to bear, no doubt; but Dick had been a bad boy on Friday. He had sold his fish instead of bringing them home, and then had gone and squandered the money on a brilliant new red necktie.

"Dat's good 'nuff for me to wear to meetin'," said Mrs. Lee, when her eyes fell upon the gorgeous bit of cheap silk. "Reckon it won't be wasted on any good-for-nuffin boy. I'll show ye wot to do wid yer fish. You' a-gettin' too mighty fine, anyhow."

Dick was disconsolate for a while; but his humility took the form of a determination to go for crabs that day, mainly because his mother had long since set her face against that tribe of animals.

"Dey's a wasteful, 'stravagant sort ob fish," remarked Mrs. Lee, in frequent explanation of her dislike. "Dey's all clo'es and no body, like some w'ite folks I know on. I don't mean de Kinzers. Dey's all got body nuff."

And yet that inlet had a name and reputation of its own for crabs. There was a wide reach of shallow water, inside the southerly point at the mouth, where, over several hundred acres of muddy flats, the depth varied from three and a half to eight feet, with the ebb and flow of the tides. That was a sort of perpetual crab-pasture; and there it was that Dick Lee determined to expend his energies that Saturday.

Very likely there would be other crabbers on the flats; but Dick was not the boy to object to that, provided none of them should notice the change in his raiment. At an early hour, therefore, Dab and Ford were preceded by their young colored friend, they themselves waiting for later breakfasts than Mrs. Lee was in the habit of preparing.

Dick's ill fortune did not leave him when he got out of sight of his mother. It followed him down to the shore of the inlet, and compelled him to give up, for that day, all idea of borrowing a respectable boat.

There were several, belonging to the neighbors, from among which Dick was accustomed to take his pick, in return for errands run and other services rendered to their owners; but on this particular morning not one of them all was available. Some were fastened with ugly chains and padlocks. Two were hauled away above even high-water mark, and so Dick could not have got either of them into the water even if he had dared to try; and as for the rest, as Dick said,—

"Guess dar owners must hab come and borrered 'em."

The consequence was, that the dark-skinned young fisherman was for once compelled to put up with his own boat, or rather his father's.

The three wise men of Gotham were not much worse off when they went to sea in a bowl than was Dick Lee in that rickety little old flat-bottomed punt.

Did it leak?

Well, not so very much, with no heavier weight than Dick's; but there was reason in his remark that,—

"Dis yer's a mean boat to frow down a fish in, when you cotch 'im. He's done suah to git drownded."

Yes, and the crabs would get their feet wet, and so would Dick; but he resigned himself to his circumstances, and pushed away. To tell the truth, he had not been able to free himself from a lingering fear lest his mother might come after him, before he could get afloat, with orders for some duty or other on shore; and that would have been worse than going to sea in the little old scow, a good deal.

"Reckon it's all right," said Dick as he shoved off. "It'd be an awful risk to trus' dem nice clo'es in de ole boat, suah."

Nice clothes, nice boats, a good many other nice things, were as yet beyond the reach of Dick Lee; but he was quite likely to catch as many crabs as his more aristocratic neighbors.

As for Dabney Kinzer and his friend from the city, they were on their way to the water-side, after all, at an hour which indicated either smaller appetites than usual or greater speed at the breakfast-table.

"Plenty of boats, I should say," remarked Ford, as he surveyed the little "landing" and its vicinity with the air of a man who had a few fleets of his own. "All sorts. Any of 'em fast?"

"Not many," said Dab. "The row-boats, big and little, have to be built so they will stand pretty rough water."

"How are the sail-boats?"

"Same thing. There's Ham Morris's yacht."

"That? Why, she's as big as any in the lot."

"Bigger; but she don't show it."

"Can't we take a cruise in her?" asked Ford.

"Any time. Ham lets me use her whenever I like. She's fast enough, but she's built so she'll stand 'most any thing. Safe as a house if she's handled right."

"Handled!"

Ford Foster's expression of face would have done honor to the Secretary of the Navy, or the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee in Congress, or any other perfect seaman, Noah included. It seemed to say,—

"As if any boat could be otherwise than well sailed, with me on board!"

Dabney, however, even while he was talking, had been hauling in from its "float and grapnel," about ten yards out at low water, the very stanch-looking little yawl-boat that called him owner. She was just such a boat as Mrs. Kinzer would naturally have provided for her boy,—stout, well-made, and sensible,—without any bad habits of upsetting or the like. Not too large for Dabney to manage all alone, "The Jenny," as he called her, and as her name was painted on the stern, was all the better for having two on board, and had room in her then for more.

"The inlet's pretty narrow for a long reach through the marsh," said Dabney, "and as crooked as a ram's horn. I'll steer, and you pull, till we're out o' that, and then I'll take the oars."

"I might as well row out to the crab-grounds," said Ford, as he pitched his coat forward, and took his seat at the oars. "All ready?"

"Ready," said Dab; and "The Jenny" glided gracefully away from the landing with the starting-push he gave her.

Ford Foster had had oars in his hands before, but his experience had been limited to a class of vessels different in some respects from the one he was in now.

He was short of something, at all events. It may have been skill, or it may have been legs or discretion; but, whatever was lacking, at the third or fourth stroke the oar-blades went a little too deeply below the smooth surface of the water. There was a vain tug, a little out of "time;" and then there was a boy on the bottom of the boat, and a pair of well-polished shoes lifted high in the air.

"You've got it," shouted Dabney.

"Got what?" exclaimed an all-but angry voice from down there between the seats.

"Caught the first 'crab,'" replied Dabney: "that's what we call it. Can you steer? Guess I'd better row."

"No, you won't," was the very resolute reply, as Ford regained his seat and his oars. "I sha'n't catch any more crabs of that sort. I'm a little out of practice, that's all."

"I should say you were, a little. Well, it won't hurt you. 'Tisn't much of a pull."

Ford would have pulled it now if he had blistered all the skin off his hands in doing so; and he did very creditable work for some minutes, among the turns and windings of the narrow inlet.

"Here we are," shouted Dabney at last. "We are in the inlet yet, but it widens out into the bay."

"That's the bay, out yonder?"

"Yes; and the island between that and the ocean's no better'n a mere bar of sand."

"How d'you get past it?"

"Right across there, almost in a straight line. We'll run it next week in Ham's yacht. Splendid weak-fishing right in the mouth of that inlet, on the ocean side."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Ford, "I'm in for that. Is the bay deep?"

"Not very," replied Dabney; "but it gets pretty rough sometimes."

Ford was getting pretty red in the face just then, with his unaccustomed exercise; and his friend added,—

"You needn't pull so hard: we're almost there. Hullo! if there isn't Dick Lee, in his dry-goods box. That boat'll drown him some day, and his dad too. But just see him pull in crabs!"

Ford came near "catching" one more as he tried to turn around for the look proposed, exclaiming,—

"Dab, let's get to work as quick as we can. They might go away."

"Might fly?"

"No; but don't they go and come?"

"Well, you go and drop the grapnel over the bows, and we'll see 'em come in pretty quick."

The grapnel, or little anchor, was thrown over quickly enough; and the two boys were in such an eager haste that they had hardly a word to say to Dick, though he was now but a few rods away.

Now, it happened that when Ford and Dab came down to the water that morning, each of them had brought a load. The former had only a neat little japanned tin box, about as big as his head; and the latter, besides his oars, carried a seemingly pretty heavy basket.

"Lots of lunch, I should say," had been Ford's mental comment; but he had not thought it wise to ask questions.

"Plenty of lunch in that box," thought Dab at the same moment, but only as a matter of course.

And they were both wrong. Lunch was the one thing they had both forgotten.

But the box and the basket.

Ford Foster came out, of his own accord, with the secret of the box; for he now took a little key out of his pocket, and unlocked it with an air of—

"Look at this, will you?"

Dab Kinzer looked, and was very sure he had never before seen quite such an assortment of brand-new fish-hooks, of many sorts and sizes, and of fish-lines which looked as if they had thus far spent their lives on dry land.

"Tip-top," he remarked. "I see a lot of things we can use one of these days, but there isn't time to go over 'em now. Let's go for the crabs. What made you bring your box along?"

"Oh!" replied Ford, "I left my rods at home, both of 'em. You don't s'pose I'd go for crabs with a rod, do you? But you can take your pick of hooks and lines."

"Crabs? Hooks and lines?"

"Why, yes. You don't mean to scoop 'em up in that landing-net, do you?"

Dab looked at his friend for a moment in blank amazement, and then the truth broke upon him for the first time.

"Oh, I see! You never caught any crabs. Well, just you lock up your jewellery-box, and I'll show you."

It was not easy for Dab to keep from laughing in Ford Foster's face; but his mother had not given him so many lessons in good-breeding for nothing, and Ford was permitted to close his ambitious "casket" without any worse annoyance than his own wounded pride gave him.

But now came out the secret of the basket.

The cover was jerked off; and nothing was revealed but a varied assortment of clams, large and small, but mostly of good size,—tough old customers, that no amount of roasting or boiling would ever have prepared for human eating.

"What are they for,—bait?"

"Yes, bait, weight, and all."

"How's that?"

Dabney's reply was to draw from his pocket a couple of long, strong cords, bits of old fishing-lines. He cracked a couple of clams one against the other; tied the fleshy part of one to each of the cords; tied bits of shell on, a foot or so from the ends, for sinkers; handed one cord to Ford, took the other himself, and laid the long-handled scoop-net he had brought with him down between them, saying,—

"Now we're ready. Drop your clam down to the bottom, and it won't be half a minute before you feel something pull on it. Then you draw it up gently,—steady as you know how. You mustn't jerk the crab loose. You'll get the knack of it in five minutes. It's all knack. There isn't any thing else so stupid as a crab."

Ford watched carefully, and obeyed in silence the directions he had received.

In a minute or so more the operation of the scoop-net was called for, and the fun began.

"You got him!" exclaimed Ford in a loud whisper, as he saw Dab quickly plunge the net into the water, and then shake out of it into the bottom of the boat a great sprawling "blue-legged" crab. "He's a whopper!"

"He'll do for one."

"There's one on mine! I declare, he's let go!"

"You jerked the clam away from him. Sink it again. He's mad about it.
He'll take right hold again."

"He's pulling now, or it's another one."

"Let him pull. Lift him easy. Long as he thinks he's stealing something, he'll hold on. There he comes,—see him?"

Ford saw the white flesh of the clam coming slowly up through the water, and he held his breath; for just behind and below it was a sprawling shadowy something that was tugging with all its might at that tough shell-fish.

"It's an awful big one!"

"Shall I scoop him?"

"No, indeed: I want to scoop him myself. I saw how you did it."

Splash went the net, as the prize came nearer the surface; and Ford began, somewhat excitedly, to shake it all over the bottom of the boat.

"Why, where's that crab? You don't mean to say he was quick enough to dodge away?"

"Quick? well, no, that isn't just the trouble. I forgot to tell you to scoop way under him. You hit him, square, and knocked him ever so far. The water deceives your eyes. Drive the net under him quick, and then lift. I've got one—now just you see how I scoop."

Ford felt dreadfully disappointed over the loss of his first crab, but the rapidity with which he caught the "knack of it" after that was a great credit to him. He did not miss the next one he pulled up.

It was great fun; but it had its slack moments, and in one of these Dab suddenly exclaimed,—

"The young black rascal! If he hasn't gone and got a sheep's-head!"

"A sheep's-head?"

They were both staring at the old punt, where Dick Lee was apparently enjoying the most extraordinary good fortune.

"Yes, that's it. That's why he beats us so badly. They're a sight better'n clams, only you can't always get one. I wonder where he picked up that one."

"But how he does pull 'em in!"

"We're doing well enough," began Dabney, when suddenly there came a shrill cry of pain from the black boy's punt.

"He's barefooted," shouted Dab, with, it must be confessed, something like a grin; "and one of the little pirates has pinned him with his nippers."

That was the difficulty exactly, and there need not have been any very serious result of such an expression of a crab's bad temper. But Dick Lee was more than ordinarily averse to any thing like physical pain, and the crab which now had him by the toe was a very muscular and vicious specimen of his quarrelsome race.

The first consequence of that vigorous nip was a momentary dance up and down in the punt, accompanied by exclamatory howls from Dick, but not by a word of any sort from the crab.

The next consequence was, that the crab let go; but so at the same instant, did the rotten board in the boat-bottom, upon which Dick Lee had so rashly danced.

It let go of the rest of the boat so suddenly that poor Dick had only time for one tremendous yell, as it let him right down through to his armpits.

The water was perfectly smooth; but the boat was full in an instant, and nearly a bushel of freshly-caught and ill-tempered crabs were manoeuvring in all directions around the woolly head, which was all their late captor could now keep in sight.

"Up with the grapnel, Ford," shouted Dab. "Take an oar: we'll both row.
He can swim like a duck, but he might split his throat."

"Or get scared to death."

"Or those crabs might go for him, and eat him up."

"How he does yell!"

CHAPTER VII.

A VERY ACCIDENTAL CALL.

At the very moment when the angry crab closed his nippers on the bare big toe of Dick Lee, and his shrill note of discomfort rang across the inlet, the shriller whistle of the engine announced the arrival of the morning train from the city, at the little station in the village.

A moment or so later, a very pretty young lady was standing beside a trunk on the platform, trying to get some information from the flagman.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Foster lives?"

"That's the gimlet-eyed lawyer from New Yark?"

"Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face.
"Where does he live?"

"He's got the sassiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"

"I think likely it is. Can you tell me how to get there?"

"Thim Kinzers is foine people. The widdy married one of the gurrels to
Misther Morris."

"But how can I get to the house?"

"Is it there ye're afther goin'?—Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer owld rattlethrap, and take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the Kinzer place. Sharp, now."

"I should say it was," muttered the young lady, as the remains of what had been a carryall were pulled up beside the platform by the skinny skeleton of what might once have been a horse. "It's a rattletrap."

There was no choice, however; for that was the only public conveyance at the station, and the trunk was already whisked in behind the dashboard, and the driver was waiting for her.

He could afford to wait, as it would be some hours before another train would be in.

There was no door to open in that "carriage." It was all door except the top and bottom, and the pretty passenger was neither helped nor hindered in finding her place on the back seat.

If the flagman was more disposed to ask questions than to answer them, Michael said few words of any kind except to his horse. To him, indeed, he kept up a constant stream of encouraging remarks, the greatest part of which would have been difficult for an ordinary hearer to understand.

Very likely the horse knew what they meant; for he came very near breaking from a limp into a trot several times, under the stimulus of all that clucking and "G'lang, now!"

The distance was by no means great, and Michael seemed to know the way perfectly. At least he answered, "Yes'm, indade," to several inquiries from his passenger, and she was compelled to be satisfied with that.

"What a big house it is! And painters at work on it too," she exclaimed, just as Michael added a vigorous jerk of the reins to the "Whoa!" with which he stopped his nag in front of an open gate.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"Yes'm; fifty cints, mum."

By the time the trunk was out of the carriage and swung inside of the gate, the young lady had followed; but for some reason Michael at once sprang back to his place, and whipped up his limping steed. It may have been from the fear of being asked to take that trunk into the house, for it was not a small one. The young lady stood for a moment irresolute, and then left it where it was, and walked on up to the house.

No bell; no knocker. The workmen had not reached that part of their improvements yet. But the door was open; and a very neatly furnished parlor at the left of the hall seemed to say, "Come right in, please;" and in she went.

Such an arrival could not possibly have escaped the notice of the inmates of the house; and, as the young lady from the railway came in at the front, another and a very different-looking lady marched through to the parlor from the rear.

Each one would have been a puzzle to the other, if the elder of the two had not been Mrs. Kinzer, and the widow had never been very much puzzled in all her life. At all events, she put out her hand, with a cordial smile, saying,—

"Miss Foster, is it not? I am Mrs. Kinzer. How could he have made such a mistake?"

"Yes, Miss Annie Foster. But do please explain Where am I? and how do you know me?"

The widow laughed cheerily.

"How do I know you, my dear? Why, you resemble your mother almost as much as your brother Ford resembles his father. You are only one door from home here, and I'll have your trunk taken right over to the house. Please sit down a moment. Ah! my daughter Samantha, Miss Foster. Excuse me a moment, while I call one of the men."

By the time their mother was fairly out of the room, however, Keziah and Pamela were also in it; and Annie thought she had rarely seen three girls whose appearance testified so strongly to the healthiness of the place they lived in.

The flagman's questions and Annie's answers were related quickly enough, and the cause of Michael's blunder was plain at once.

The parlor rang again with peals of laughter; for Dab Kinzer's sisters were ready at any time to look at the funny side of things, and their accidental guest saw no reason for not joining them.

"Your brother Ford is on the bay, crabbing with our Dabney," remarked Samantha, as the widow returned. But Annie's eyes had been furtively watching her baggage through the window, and saw it swinging upon a broad, red-shirted pair of shoulders, just then; and, before she could bring her mind to bear upon the crab question, Keziah Kinzer exclaimed,—

"If there isn't Mrs. Foster, coming through the garden gate!"

"My mother!" and Annie was up and out of the parlor in a twinkling, followed by all the ladies of the Kinzer family. It was really quite a procession.

Now, if Mrs. Foster was in any degree surprised by her daughter's sudden appearance, or by her getting to the Kinzer house first instead of to her own, it was a curious fact that she did not say so by a word or a look.

Not a breath of it. But, for all the thorough-bred self-control of the city lady, Mrs. Kinzer knew perfectly well there was something odd and unexpected about it all. If Samantha had noticed this fact, there might have been some questions asked possibly; but one of the widow's most rigid rules in life was to "mind her own business."

The girls, indeed, were quite jubilant over an occurrence which made them at once so well acquainted with their very attractive new neighbor; and they might have followed her even beyond the gate in the north fence, if it had not been for their mother. All they were allowed to do was to go back to their own parlor, and hold "a council of war," in the course of which Annie Foster was discussed, from her bonnet to her shoes.

Mrs. Foster had been abundantly affectionate in greeting her daughter; but, when once they were alone in the wee sitting-room of the old Kinzer homestead, she put her arms around her, saying,—

"Now, my darling, tell me what it all means."

"Why, mother, it was partly my mistake, and partly the flagman's and the driver's; and I'm sure Mrs. Kinzer was kind. She knew me before I said a word, by my resemblance to you."

"Oh, I don't mean that! How is it you are here so soon? I thought you meant to make a long visit at your uncle Hart's."

"So I would, mother, if it had not been for those boys."

"Your cousins, Annie?"

"Cousins, mother! You never saw such young bears in all your life. They tormented me from morning till night."

"But, Annie, I hope you have not offended"—

"Offended, mother? Aunt Maria thinks they're perfect, and so does uncle
Joe. They'd let them pull the house down over their heads, you'd think."

"But, Annie, what did they do? and what did you say?"

"Do, mother? I couldn't tell you in all day; but when they poured ink over my cuffs and collars, I said I would come home. I had just one pair left white to wear home, and I travelled all night."

Poor Mrs. Foster! A cold shudder went over her at the idea of that ink among the spotless contents of her own collar-box.

"What boys they must be! but, Annie, what did your aunt say?"

"Uncle Joe laughed till he cried; and Aunt Maria said, 'Boys will be boys;' and I half believe they were sorry; but that was only a sort of a winding-up, I wouldn't stay there another day."

Annie had other things to tell; and, long before she had finished her story, there was no further fault to be found with her for losing her temper. Still her mother said mildly,—

"I must write to Maria at once, for it won't do to let those boys make trouble between us."

Annie looked at her with an expression of face which very plainly said,—

"Nobody in the wide world could have the heart to quarrel with you."

CHAPTER VIII.

A RESCUE, AND A GRAND GOOD TIME.

Dab Kinzer and his friend were prompt enough coming to the rescue of their unfortunate fellow-lubber; but to get him out of the queer wreck he had made of that punt looked like a tough task to both of them, and they said as much.

"I isn't drownin'," exclaimed Dick heroically, as the other boat was pulled alongside of him. "Jest you take your scoop-net, and save dem crabs."

"They won't drown," said Ford.

"But they'll get away," said Dab, as he snatched up the scoop. "Dick's head is perfectly level on that point."

The side-boards of the old punt were under water half the time, but the crabs were pretty well penned in. Even a couple of them, that had mistaken Dick's wool for another sheep's-head, were secured without difficulty, in spite of the firmness with which they clung to their prize.

"What luck he'd been having!" said Ford.

"He always does," said Dab. "I say, Dick, how'll I scoop you in?"

"Has you done got all de crabs?"

"Every pinner of 'em."

"Den you jest wait a minute."

Waiting was all that was left them to do, for the shining black face and woolly head disappeared almost instantly.

"He's sunk," exclaimed Ford.

"There he comes," replied Dab: "he'd swum ashore from here, and not half try. Why, I could swim twice as far as that myself, and he can beat me."

"Could you? I couldn't."

That was the first time Dab had heard his city acquaintance make a confession of inability, and he could see a more than usually thoughtful expression on his face. The coolness and skill of Dick Lee, in his hour of disaster, had not been thrown away upon him.

"If I had my clothes off," said Ford, "I believe I'd try that on."

"Dab Kinzer, you's de bes' feller dar is. But wot'll we do wid de old boat?" burst out Dick, on coming to the surface.

"Let the tide carry her in while we're crabbing. She isn't worth mending, but we'll tow her home."

"All right," said Dick, as he grasped the gunwale of Dab's boat, and began to climb over.

"Hold on, Dick."

"I is a-holdin' on."

"I mean, wait a bit. Ain't you wet?"

"Of course I's wet."

"Well, then, you stay in there till you get dry It's well you didn't have your new clothes on."

"Ain't I glad 'bout dem!" enthusiastically ex-claimed the young African. "Nebber mind dese clo'es. De water on 'em's all good, dry water, like de res' ob de bay."

And, so saying, Dick tumbled over in, with a spatter which made Ford Foster tread on two of three crabs in getting away from it. It was not the first time, by many, that Dick Lee had found himself bathing in that bay without any time given him to undress.

And now it was discovered that the shipwrecked crabber had never for one instant lost his hold of the line, to the other end of which was fastened his precious sheep's-head.

They made a regular crabbing crew now,—two to pull up, and one to scoop in; and never had the sprawling game been more plentiful on that pasture, or more apparently in a greedy hurry to be captured.

"What on earth shall we do with them all?" asked Ford.

"Soon's we've got enough for a mess for both our folks," said Dab, "we'll quit this, and go for some fish. The clams are good bait, and we can try some of your tackle."

Ford's face brightened a good deal at that suggestion, for he had more than once cast a crest fallen look at his pretentious box. But he replied,—

"A mess! How many crabs can one man eat?"

"I don't know," said Dab. "It depends a good deal on who he is. Then, if he eats the shells, he can't take in so many."

"Eat de shells? Yah, yah, yah! Dat beats my mudder! She's allers a-sayin' wot a waste de shells make," laughed Dick. "I jest wish we might ketch some fish. I dasn't kerry home no crabs."

"It does look as if we'd got as many as we'll know what to do with," remarked Dab, as he looked down on the sprawling multitude in the bottom of the boat. "We'll turn the clams out of the basket, and fill that; but we mustn't put any crabs in the fish-car. We'll stow 'em all forward."

The basket held more than half a bushel, but there was still a "heap" of what Ford Foster called "the crusties" to pen up in the bow of the boat.

That duty attended to, the grapnel was pulled up, and Dick was set at the oars, while Dab selected from Ford's box just the hooks and lines their owner had made least account of.

"What'll we catch, Dab?"

"'Most anything. Nobody knows till he's done it. Perch, porgies, cunners, black-fish, weak-fish, maybe a bass or a sheep's-head, but more cunners than any thing else, unless we strike some flounders at the turn of the tide."

"That's a big enough assortment to set up a fish-market on."

"If we catch 'em. We've got a good enough day, anyhow, and the tide'll be about right by the time we get to work."

"Why not try here?"

"'Cause there's no fish to speak of, and because the crabs'll clean your hook for you as fast as you can put the bait on. We must go out to deeper water and better bottom. Dick knows just where to go. You might hang your line out all day and not get a bite, if you didn't strike the right spot."

Ford made no answer, but looked on very seriously while Dab skilfully slit up a tough old Dutch clam into bait. It was beginning to dawn upon him that he could teach the "'long-shore boys," whether black or white, very little about fishing. He even allowed Dab to pick out a line for him, and to put on the hook and sinker; and Dick Lee showed him how to fix his bait, "so de fust cunner dat rubs agin it won't knock it off. Dem's awful mean fish. Good for nuffin but 'teal bait."

A merry party they were; and the salt water was rapidly drying from the garments of the colored oars-man, as he pulled strongly and skilfully out into the bay, and around toward a deep cove at the north of the inlet mouth.

Then, indeed, for the first time in his life, Ford Foster learned what it was to catch fish.

Not but what he had spent many an hour, and even day, on and about other waters, with a rod or a line in his hand; but he had never before had two such born fishermen at his elbow to take him to the right place precisely, and at the right time, and then to show him what to do when he got there.

It was fun enough; for the fish bit remarkably well, and some of those which came into the boat were of a very encouraging size and weight.

There was one curious thing about those heavier fish.

Ford would have given half the hooks and lines in his box, if he could have caught from Dick or Dab the mysterious "knack" they seemed to have of coaxing the biggest of the finny folk to their bait, and then over the side of the boat.

"There's some kind of favoritism about it," he remarked.

"Never mind, Ford," replied Dab. "Dick and I are better acquainted with them. They're always a little shy with strangers, at first. They don't really mean to be impolite."

Favoritism it was, nevertheless; and there was now no danger but what Dick would be able to appease the mind of his mother without making any mention of the crabs.

At last, almost suddenly, and as if by common consent, the fish stopped biting, and the two "'long shore boys" began to put away their lines.

"Going to quit?" asked Ford.

"Time's up, and the tide's turned," replied Dab.

"Not another bite, most likely, till late this evening. We might as well pull up, and start for home."

"That's a curious kind of a habit for fish to have."

"They've all got it though, 'round this bay."

"Mus' look out for wot's lef' ob de ole scow, on de way home," remarked Dick a little solemnly. "I's boun' to ketch it for dat good-for-noting ole board."

"We'll find it, and tow it in," said Dab; "and perhaps we can get it mended. Anyhow, you can go with us next week. We're going to make a cruise in Ham Morris's yacht. Will you go?"

"Will I go? Yoop!" almost yelled the excited boy. "Dat's jest de one t'ing I'd like to jine. Won't we hab fun! She's jest de bes' boat on dis hull bay. You ain't foolin' me, is yer?"

He was strongly assured that his young white associates were in sober earnest about both their purpose and their promise; and, after that, he insisted on rowing all the distance home.

On the way the old punt was taken in tow; but the tide had already swept it so far inside the mouth of the inlet, that there was less trouble in pulling it the rest of the way. It was hardly worth the labor, but Dab knew what a tempest the loss of it might bring around the ears of poor Dick.

When they reached the landing, and began to over-haul their very brilliant "catch," Dabney said,—

"Now, Dick, take your string home, leave that basket of crabs at Mr. Foster's, and then come back with the basket, and carry the rest of 'em to our house. Ford and I'll see to the rest of the fish."

"I haven't caught half as many as you have, either of you," said Ford, when he saw with what even-handed justice the fish were divided in three piles, as they were scooped out of the fish-car.

"What of that?" replied Dab. "We follow fishermen's rules, down this way. Share and share alike, you know. All the luck is outside the boat, they say. Once the fish are landed, your luck's as good as mine."

"Do they always follow that rule?"

"The man that broke it wouldn't find company very easily, hereabouts, next time he wanted to go a-fishing. No, nor for any thing else. Nobody'd boat with him."

"Well, if it's the regular thing," said Ford hesitatingly. "But I'll tell who really caught 'em."

"Oh, some of yours are right good ones! Your string'd look big enough, some days, just as you caught 'em."

"Would it?"

"Yes, it would. Don't you imagine we can pull 'em in every time like we did this morning,—crabs nor fish."

"No, I s'pose not. Anyhow, I've learned some things."

"I guess likely. We'll go for some more next week. Now for a tug."

"Ain't they heavy, though!"

The boat had already been made fast; and the two boys picked up their strings of fish, two for each, after Dick Lee had started for home; and heavy things they were to carry under that hot sun.

"Come and show the whole lot to my mother," said Ford, "before you take yours into the house. I'd like to have her see them all."

"All right," replied Dab, but he little dreamed what was coming; for, when he and Ford marched proudly into the sitting-room with their finny prizes, Dabney found himself face to face with, not good, sweet-voiced Mrs. Foster, but, as he thought, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen.

Ford Foster shouted, "Annie! You here? Well, I never!"

But Dab Kinzer wished all those fish safely back again swimming in the bay.