Part 29 (1/2)

”There, there! That's quite sufficient, thank you. Do you know any of those men?” he asked, turning to the workman.

”Yes, sir, I guess I do.”

”Very well. Go up and bring two of them here; not more than two, understand.”

Jed's accuser departed. Major Grover resumed his catechizing.

”What were you doing here?” he asked.

”Eh? Me? Oh, I was just picnicin', as you might say, along with a little girl, daughter of a neighbor of mine. She wanted to see where the soldiers was goin' to fly, so I borrowed Perez Ryder's power dory and we came over. 'Twas gettin' along dinner time and I built a fire so as to cook. . . . My soul!” with a gasp of consternation, ”I forgot all about that chowder. And now it's got stone cold. Yes, sir!” dropping on his knees and removing the cover of the kettle, ”stone cold or next door to it. Ain't that a shame!”

Lieutenant Rayburn snorted in disgust. His superior officer, however, merely smiled.

”Never mind the chowder just now,” he said. ”So you came over here for a picnic, did you? Little late for picnics, isnt it?”

”Yes--ye-es,” drawled Jed, ”'tis kind of late, but 'twas a nice, moderate day and Babbie she wanted to come, so--”

”Babbie? That's the little girl? . . . Oh,” with a nod, ”I remember now. I saw a man with a little girl wandering about among the buildings a little while ago. Was that you?”

”Ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . Tut, tut, tut! I'll have to warm this chowder all up again now. That's too bad!”

Voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of the carpenter and the two ”identifiers.” The latter, Mr. Emulous Baker and Mr.

”Squealer” Wixon, were on the broad grin.

”Yup, that's him,” announced Mr. Wixon. ”h.e.l.lo, Shavin's! Got you took up for a German spy, have they? That's a good one! haw, haw!”

”Do you know him?” asked the major.

”Know him?” Mr. Wixon guffawed again. ”Known him all my life. He lives over to Orham. Makes windmills and whirlagigs and such for young-ones to play with. HE ain't any spy. His name's Jed Winslow, but we always call him 'Shavin's,' 'count of his whittlin'

up so much good wood, you understand. Ain't that so, Shavin's?

Haw, haw!”

Jed regarded Mr. Wixon mournfully.

”Um-hm,” he admitted. ”I guess likely you're right, Squealer.”

”I bet you! There's only one Shavin's in Orham.”

Jed sighed. ”There's consider'ble many squealers,” he drawled; ”some in sties and some runnin' loose.”

Major Grover, who had appeared to enjoy this dialogue, interrupted it now.

”That would seem to settle the spy question,” he said. ”You may go, all three of you,” he added, turning to the carpenters. They departed, Jed's particular enemy muttering to himself and Mr. Wixon laughing uproariously. The major once more addressed Jed.

”Where is the little girl you were with?” he asked.

”Eh? Oh, she's over yonder just 'round the p'int, sailin' a s.h.i.+ngle boat I made her. Shall I call her?”

”No, it isn't necessary. Mr. Winslow, I'm sorry to have put you to all this trouble and to have cooled your--er--chowder. There is no regulation against visitors to our reservation here just now, although there will be, of course, later on. There is a rule against building fires on the beach, but you broke that in ignorance, I'm sure. The reason why you have been cross-questioned to-day is a special one. A construction plan has been lost, as Lieutenant Rayburn here informed you. It was on his desk in the office and it has disappeared. It may have been stolen, of course, or, as both windows were open, it may have blown away. You are sure you haven't seen anything of it? Haven't seen any papers blowing about?”

”I'm sure it didn't blow away, sir,” put in the lieutenant. ”I'm positive it was stolen. You see--”