"Eh? Oh, I hope there wan't any bones in that mackerel Heman's cat got away with. If there was it might choke or somethin'."
"Good gracious! I shouldn't worry over that possibility, if I were you. I should scarcely blame you for wishing it might choke, after stealing your dinner."
Mr. Winslow shook his head. "That wouldn't do," solemnly. "If it choked it couldn't ever steal another one."
"But you don't WANT it to steal another one, do you?"
"We-ll, if every one it stole meant my havin' as good an afternoon as this one's been, I'd—"
He stopped. Barbara ventured to spur him on.
"You'd what?" she asked.
"I'd give up whittlin' weather vanes and go mackerel-seinin' for the critter's benefit. Well—er—good day, ma'am."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow. We shall expect you again soon. You must be neighborly, for, remember, we are friends now."
Jed was half way across the yard, but he stopped and turned.