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Updated: May 17, 2025
"And is that the house?" the girl asked, for in approaching the Ball homestead from this angle it looked different from its appearance as viewed standing on the deck of the inbound Seamew. "That is the Ball house, and Aunt Prue taking in her wash," Tunis replied. "I suppose she had John-Ed Williams' wife over to wash for her, but Myra will have gone home before this to get the supper. Tush!
I I have been expecting some money payment of one of my father's old bills." She slit the envelope of the letter little John-Ed had just brought her. Inside was a pale-blue slip a money order. "Yes," she said. "I can get away now. I must go somewhere to earn my living, and as far away from here as I can get." "So you think on traveling, do you?" said the old man.
"I'd got into the way of thinking," remarked Cap'n Ball dryly, "that most folks 'ceptin' John-Ed and his wife had got the notion we'd dried up here, Prue and me, and blowed away. Some of 'em ain't never come near in six months. I swan!" "Now, Ira," admonished his wife, "do have charity." "Charity? Huh! I'll take a pinch of snuff instead. That's a warnin', Prudence! A-choon!"
During the summer and early fall, Sheila had become a splendid oarswoman. In a skiff belonging to little John-Ed which was drawn up on the sands not far from the cabin she had paddled out through the narrow neck of the tiny cove's entrance and pulled bravely through the surf and out upon the sea beyond. She had learned more than a bit of sea lore, too, from Cap'n Ira and Tunis.
Macklin's services; and Sheila felt that in this present tragic emergency she must attempt the collection of these old debts. She wrote letters praying that money might be sent her by express to Paulmouth, but with the orders addressed under cover to "John-Ed Williams, Jr." at the Big Wreck Cove post office.
The New York-Boston steamers would keep to the inside passage in this gale. Sheila had made all taut and trim inside the cabin. She had plenty of firewood and sufficient provisions to last her for a time. About noon she heard the crunch of footsteps on the sand. It was little John-Ed who first appeared before her eyes. He thrust a letter into Sheila's hand.
Who else would have ever thought of dumping a two-bushel bag of oats into a twenty-bushel bin? We always put feed in that covered can yonder, so as to keep shet of the rats. But that boy, when he brought the oats, dumped 'em into the box before I could stop him. He's got less sense than his father; and you know, Tunis, John-Ed himself ain't got much more wit than the law allows."
The captain of the Seamew was in no mood to bandy words with little John-Ed Williams, but the sharp tooth of his troubled thought fastened upon one indubitable fact: if there is anything odd going on in a community, the small boy of that community knows all about it or, at least, as much about it as it is possible to know.
"I swan, Prue, you cut me in two places this mornin' when you shaved me," said Cap'n Ira suddenly and in some slight exasperation. "And I can't handle that dratted razor myself." "Maybe you could get John-Ed Williams to come over and shave you, Ira." "John-Ed's got his work to do. Then again, how're we going to pay him for such jobs? I swan! I can't afford a vally, Prue.
"I I am afraid, Aunt 'Mira, that it draws so because you are not drawn in just the same as you were when the dress was fitted by Mrs. John-Ed." "My soul and body!" gasped the heavy lady, in desperation. "I knowed it! I felt it in my bones that she'd got me pulled in too tight."
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