"That may be; but it don't look well for a rich man like him to let you save his little daughter from drowning, and then only say thank'ee for it."
"I think it does, Mrs. Green, and I hope he will let the matter rest just where it is."
"There is no danger now but what he will. If he ever meant to do anything for you, he would have done it before now."
"I am perfectly contented, marm, and I only wish the neighbors were as easy about it as I am."
"It ain't none of the neighbors' business, I know," added Mrs. Green, a little tartly; "but I can't look on and see such meanness without speaking of it. It don't make no difference who I say it to, neither; I had just as lief say it to Captain Littleton, as say it to you and your mother. That is just what I think, and I may just as well speak it as think it."
It was a remarkable fact, under the circumstances, that Mrs. Green never did give Captain Littleton the benefit of her opinion on this subject. Perhaps she wronged him by her silence, thus denying him the practical advantage of her criticism for the direction of his future life. But Paul never liked Mrs. Green so well after this, for she had spoken ill of him whom he honored and esteemed.
Our young fisherman, apparently unmoved by the honors that clustered around his name, pursued his humble avocation with pride and pleasure—with pride, because he had been successful by his own unaided exertions; with pleasure, because he was actually relieving his mother from the entire burden of supporting the family. Since the rescue of Carrie, perch, tom-cod, flounders, and tautog had been in greater demand than ever, for many of the rich people bought fish, even when they did not want them, just for the sake of patronizing the young hero; and the poor people ate fish oftener than they would if their admiration for the little fish merchant had been less.
The long summer vacation had commenced, and the boys were let loose from school for six weeks. John felt as though he had been emancipated from a dreadful drudgery. He could scarcely repress his exuberant joy, as he carried home his books on the last day of the term. Paul reproved him for his dislike of school, and told him he might see the day when he would appreciate the advantages of a good education.
"I don't dislike school," growled John, though it was a good-natured growl.
"Yes you do; you hate school," added Paul. "If you did not, you would not be so glad to get away from it."