He seemed to reflect. Then he asked:
"Your daughter don't sing like a windmill, does she?"
Barbara's eyes and mouth opened. "Why, Mamma!" she exclaimed, indignantly.
"Hush, Babbie. Sing like a—what? I don't understand, Mr. Winslow."
The captain burst out laughing. "No wonder you don't, ma'am," he said. "It takes the seven wise men of Greece to understand him most of the time. You leave it to me, Mrs. Armstrong. He and I will talk it over together and then you and he can talk to-morrow. But I guess likely you'll have the house, if you want it; Jed doesn't go back on his word. I always say that for you, don't I, old sawdust?" turning to the gentleman thus nicknamed.
Jed, humming a mournful hymn, was apparently miles away in dreamland. Yet he returned to earth long enough to indulge in a mild bit of repartee. "You say 'most everything for me, Sam," he drawled, "except when I talk in my sleep."
Mrs. Armstrong and Barbara left a moment later, the lady saying that she and Mr. Winslow would have another interview next day. Barbara gravely shook hands with both men.
"I and Petunia hope awfully that we are going to live here, Mr. Winslow," she said, "'specially Petunia."
Jed regarded her gravely. "Oh, she wants to more'n you do, then, does she?" he asked.
The child looked doubtful. "No-o," she admitted, after a moment's reflection, "but she can't talk, you know, and so she has to hope twice as hard else I wouldn't know it. Good-by. Oh, I forgot; Captain Hedge liked his swordfish EVER so much. He said it was a— a—oh, yes, humdinger."