"Where's Miss Phenie?" asked Luther Williams, throwing himself down on the lounge in the corner.
"She's getting the room ready for the boarders," Miss Phosie answered. The Tibbett sisters rejoiced in the names of Tryphena and Tryphosa.
"Boarders? What boarders?" Mr. Williams raised himself on one elbow and looked alert.
"Ain't you heard, Mr. Williams? We're going to take Miss Elliott and her niece till their house is ready. She wants to be here where she can overlook it, and Almira Green says she can't take anybody till June. I don't blame Miss Elliott for wanting to be on hand, so sister and me talked it over, and as Almira said Miss Elliott was so persistent and we'd no excuse when we already had one boarder, we gave in. To be sure I said you wasn't like common boarders, seeing that you'd been here twenty years. But then it did seem churlish to refuse when we meant to take boarders anyhow this year, and what difference did a few weeks, sooner or later, make? So we said we'd try to accommodate 'em, and they're coming on the boat to-day."
"Humph!" ejaculated Luther from his corner.
"I told sister you'd be upsot," Miss Phosie went on as she rolled out her pie-crust, "but she said you'd have your breakfast before sun up anyway, and could have your other meals here in the kitchen, as you always do, so she guessed you wouldn't be bothered much by 'em. You never was much for seeing folks, Mr. Williams, and I guess we won't insist on your settin' up and makin' yourself agreeable if you don't want to."
Mr. Williams gave a short laugh and settled back while Miss Phosie went on with her pie-making. He drew a book from his pocket and lay back to read, but somehow he could not fix his mind on the pages. His thoughts would wander back to that time which had been newly brought to remembrance by the name of Elliott. He sat up, dropped his head between his hands and was lost in memories. Yes, it had been nearly twenty years since he came to Fielding's Island. He had come for a week's stay and had remained for a score of years. Old Captain Ben Tibbett had taken him in and he had stayed on and on. In these twenty years the Tibbett girls had grown to be middle-aged women, the island, then a lonely spot whose aloofness had been its chief charm, was growing to be popular. First one then another wandering visitor had discovered its beauties, had bought a plat of ground, and had built a cottage. The channel between the island and the mainland, once crossed only by sailing-vessels or row-boats, was now the highway for a steamboat which touched daily at the new wharf and brought the mail. In those early days the mail-bag was sent over from the Neck in a dory, and few were the letters it contained. Then the low-roofed houses all faced the cove, most of them nestling down in the more sheltered spots under the hill; now the summer residents had their cottages all looking seaward and the line of these was increasing year by year. "I shall have to go," said Luther Williams aloud.
Miss Phosie looked around in surprise. "Dear suz!" she exclaimed, "what do you mean, Mr. Williams?"
The man rose to his feet, picked up his hat and said, "I must be going down along, Phosie."
"It's most dinner time," she warned him.