"Handsome evenin', Mr. Dunham," remarked the unmoved postmaster. "Bo't's late, ain't it?"
John assented, and a wizened old man passed him and approached the counter.
"Howdy, Frisk," he mumbled. "Got to have some more terbacca. Gimme a package o' Peace and Good Will, will ye?"
The proprietor beamed sympathetically. "Ye'll have to try somethin' else this time, Uncle Ben," he drawled pleasantly. "I'm sorry, but the fact is my Peace and Good Will's mouldy."
Dunham smiled, and looked over his shoulder at Benny. He was still cracking his heels gently against the flour barrel. The evening boat must be in soon, and then the boy would be out on the dock, lost in the excitement of its arrival. Dunham strolled up to him. "Good-evening, Benny."
He was surprised at the unresponsive air with which the boy nodded. John was aware of having recently completed the capture of Benny's heart by replying to questions concerning the gold football on his fob; but to-night there was no lighting of the young sailor's face.
"Come outside, will you, Benny? I want to speak to you."
To John's further amazement, Benny, instead of bounding off the barrel, complied with reluctance; but they were finally out of doors in the velvet darkness that preceded the moonrise.
"I want to know where you left Miss Sylvia," said John Dunham imperiously.
The boy hesitated a minute, then spoke grudgingly. "At the Tide Mill."