Part 6 (1/2)

He took his pipe from his mouth, in order that his mind should not be distracted. Then he pushed his cap back, and dropped an oar.

”Freddie, is that you?” he asked. ”Sure I thought you was comin' up to the shack, and I've bin waitin' for you.”

”We are on our way up there now. You are not going out, are you?”

pleaded Freda.

”No, Freddie,” (he always called her Freddie), ”I'll come right in. I was only goin' acrost to get a few little things; but they can wait.”

Cora now had a chance to see this quaint old fellow. He was Irish, with many fine humorous wrinkles about his eyes and mouth. He seemed to breathe through his pipe, so constantly did he inhale it, and just how he kept his sailor's blouse so clean, and his worn clothes so neat, was a trick he had learned in his younger days in the navy.

”Isn't this a fine day?” he commented, with a nod to Cora.

”Simply perfect,” she answered, seeing there was no need for a formal introduction. ”I have been telling Freda how surprised I was at the beauty of this place.”

”Surprised, is it? Sure, there ain't another spot this side of Cape Cod with as many fine points to it. I wouldn't leave this little bay for a berth on any ocean liner.”

”My friend, Cora Kimball, is from Chelton, Uncle Denny. Do you know where that is?” asked Freda.

”Chelton? Chelton? Sure, I do. I went through there once in a parade wagon. We were out with the G. A. R. and I guess the parade got lost, for I remember at Chelton we had to put up for the night in an old church they were using for a fire house. But we had a fine time,” and he chuckled at the recollection. ”And next day we finished up without the need of a wagon. It was like camp days to scatter ourselves about the big ramshackle place.”

”Oh, yes, that's out in the East End,” Cora said. ”We have quite an up-to-date fire house in Chelton Center.”

”Well, that was good enough for me,” he a.s.serted. ”But come along and I'll show you my shack. Freddie will be surprised at my new decorations.”

Up the little board walk to a path through the woods the three tramped.

Denny Shane was popular with young folks; even the mischievous boys who would occasionally untie his boat before a storm had no reason to fear his wrath, for such pranks were quickly forgotten.

”And the mother, Freddie?” he asked. ”How's she gettin' on?”

”Well, she worries a good deal,” the girl replied. ”But I keep telling her it must come right in time.”

”Sure it will. The rascals that would do wrong to a widder couldn't prosper. 'Taint lucky. But they're foxy. Did you hear anything new?”

”Yes, but not much that is substantial. My friend and I want to see you to find out all that you may know about it. Perhaps there is some clue we have been overlooking, that you could give us.”

”Well, you're welcome to all I know. But here we are. No need to unlock my door,” he said as he saw Cora smile at his unceremonious entrance to the shack. ”Them that has nothin' has nothin' to fear.”

A surprising little place, indeed, the girls were shown into. Neat and orderly, yet convenient and practical, was Denny Shane's home. There was a stove and a mantel, a table, two chairs and a long bench. Pieces of rag carpet indicated the most favored spots--those to be lived on.

”And now, Freddie,” began Denny, drawing out two chairs, ”what do you think of my housekeeping?”

”Why, you are just as comfortable and neat as possible,” she replied.

”But I notice one thing has not lost its place--your red oar.”

”No--indeed!” he said almost solemnly. ”That oar will stay with me while Denny Shane has eyes to see it. It has a story, Freddie, and I often promised to tell it to you. This is as good a time as another.”

He put his pipe down, brought a big chair up to the window, opened a back door to allow the salt air to sweep in; then, while Cora looked with quickening interest at the old red oar, that hung over the fireplace, Denny shook his head reflectively and started with his story.

”That oar,” he said, ”seems like a link between me and Leonard Lewis--your grandpa, Freddie. And, too, it is a reminder of the night when I nearly went over the other sea, and would have, but for Leonard Lewis and his strong red oar.”