"Boy?" inquired Ledlie, resting one soil-incrusted boot on his spade. "Another girl," admitted Greensleeve. "Gawsh!" After a moment's rumination he picked up a squirming angle-worm from the edge of the shallow excavation and dropped it into the empty tomato can. "Going fishing?" inquired Greensleeve without interest. "I dunno. Mebbe. Your boy Jack seen a trout into Spring Pond." Ledlie, who was a large, heavy, red-faced man with a noticeably small mouth, faded blue eyes, and grey chin whiskers, picked a budding sprig from a bush, nibbled it, and gravely seated himself on the edge of the horse-trough. He was wearing a cigar behind his ear which he presently extracted, gazed at, then reconsidering the extravagance, replaced. [Illustration: "'Boy?' inquired Ledlie, resting one soil-incrusted boot on his spade."] "Three gals, Pete--that's your record," he remarked, gazing reproachfully out across the salt meadows beyond the causeway. "They won't bring you in nothin'," he added, shutting his thin lips. "I kind of like them," said Greensleeve with a sigh. "They'll eat their heads off," retorted Ledlie; "then they'll git married an' go off some'rs. There ain't nothin' to gals nohow. You oughtn't to have went an' done it." There seemed to be no further defence for Greensleeve. Ledlie continued to chew a sprig of something green and tender, revolving it and rolling it from one side of his small, thin-lipped mouth to the other. His thin little partner brooded in the sunshine. Once he glanced up at the sign which swung in front of the road-house: "Hotel Greensleeve: Greensleeve and Ledlie, proprietors." "Needs painting, Archie," he volunteered mildly. "I dunno," said the other. "Since the gunnin' season closed there ain't been no business except them sports from New York. The bar done good; that's all." "There were two commercial men Wednesday week." "Yes, an' they found fault with their vittles. They can go to the other place next time," which was as near as Ledlie ever came to profanity. After a silence Ledlie said: "Here come your kids, Pete. I guess I'll let 'em dig a little bait for me." Down the road they came dancing, and across the causeway over Spring Pond--Jack, aged four, Doris, three, and Catharine, two; and they broke into a run when they caught sight of their father, travelling as fast as their fat little legs could carry them. "Is there a new baby? Is there a new baby?" shouted Jack, while still at a distance. "Is it a boy? I want another brother! Is it a boy?" shrilled Doris as she and baby Catharine came panting up with flushed and excited faces. "It's a girl," said Greensleeve mildly. "You'd better go into the kitchen and wash your faces." "A girl!" cried Jack contemptuously. "What did mamma do that for?" "Oh, goodness!" pouted Doris, "I didn't want any more girls around. What are you going to name her, papa?" "Athalie, I believe," he said absently. "Athalie! What kind of name is that?" demanded Jack.