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The child nodded. "Why, these, of course," she declared with emphasis, pointing with her dollie's slippered foot at Captain Cy's pile. "So? Do, hey? Didn't know I could pick so well. All right; the first prize is mine. Who takes the second?" This time Bos'n deliberated before answering. At last, however, she bent forward and touched the teacher's gifts. "These," she said. "I like these next best."
Superintending the making over of the old home occupied most of Captain Cy's daylight time that summer. His evenings were spent at Simmons's store.
George and all the rest, I should think I was in Cap'n Cyrus Whittaker's settin-room back home. The furniture looks like Cap'n Cy's and the pictures look like those he has, and and everything looks as stiff and starched and old-fashioned as can be. But the Cap'n never had a Henry. No, sirree, Henry don't belong on Cape Cod!
They were up and had their breakfast before daylight, as is the custom in this country, and with daylight the boys went out to try Charley's new rifle, which proved to be an accurate and strong shooting gun, and quite equal to Skipper Cy's recommendation. Charley found, indeed, that he could make a better target with it than with Toby's rifle.
Knowles was a devout admirer of the great Atkins, and his election would have been considered a preliminary victory for the opposition had it not been that many of Captain Cy's adherents voted for Alvin from a love of mischief, knowing from experience his ignorance of parliamentary law and his easy-going rule. "Now there'll be fun!" declared one delighted individual.
Rows of box hedge, the plants brought from Boston, were set out on each side of the front walk. The Howes front-door bell a clamorous gong was removed, and a glass knob attached to a spring bell of the old-fashioned "jingle" variety took its place. An old-fashioned flower garden Cap'n Cy's mother had loved posies was laid out on the west lawn beyond the pear trees.
"We're just here for a second," Polly explained. "Banker's freezing outside. Have you had a Merry Christmas?" she asked brightly. No one could be unhappy long under the spell of Uncle Cy's genial smile. "Fair to middling," the old man answered, contentedly. "Have a seat," he offered. They stayed chatting for a few minutes more, and then returned to the sleigh.
"Do you know, Bailey," said Asaph, "the way I look at it, this pickin' out a housekeeper for Whit ain't any common job. It's somethin' to think over. Cy's a restless critter; been cruisin' hither and yon all his life. I'm sort of scared that he'll get tired of Bayport and quit if things here don't go to suit him.
Captain Cy's original idea had been to write to this congressman. Now he determined to find and interview him. He inquired concerning him of the hotel clerk, who, like all Washington clerks, was a walking edition of "Who's Who at the Capital." "Congressman Everdean?" repeated the all-knowing young gentleman. "Yes. He's in town.
I did not know him long, but he was a kindred soul, and must have a place in my list of boys. He is a big, brown man now, and, having done his part in the war, is at work on his farm. We meet sometimes, and though we try to be dignified and proper, it is quite impossible; there is a sly twinkle in Cy's eye that upsets my gravity, and we always burst out laughing at the memory of our early frolics.