Now, however, the clutter of the shop gained but fleeting notice from Louise. Her gaze almost immediately fastened upon the figure of the bewhiskered old man, with spectacles and sou'wester both pushed back on his bald crown, who mildly looked upon her--his smile somehow impressing Louise Grayling as almost childish, it was so kindly. Cap'n Joab had dodged through the door after Lawford Tapp. The other boys from The Beaches followed their leader. Old Washy Gallup and Amiel Perdue suddenly remembered that it was almost chore time as this radiant young woman said: "I wish to see Mr. Abram Silt--Captain Silt. Is he here?" "I'm him, miss," Cap'n Abe returned politely. Milt Baker surely would have remained of all the crowd of idlers, gaping oilily at the visitor across the top of the rusty stove, had not a shrill feminine voice been heard outside the store, "Is Milt Baker there? Ain't none o' you men seen him? Land sakes! he's as hard to hold as the greased pig on Fourth o' July--an' jest 'bout as useful." "Milt," said Cap'n Abe suggestively, "I b'lieve I hear Mandy callin' you." "I'm a-comin'!--I'm a-comin', Mandy!" gurgled Milt, cognizant of the girl's gay countenance turned upon him. "What did you want, miss?" asked Cap'n Abe, as the recreant husband of the militant Mandy stumbled over his own feet getting out of the store. Louise bubbled over with laughter; she could not help it. Cap'n Abe's bearded countenance broke slowly into an appreciative grin. "Yes," he said, "she does have him on a leadin' string. I do admit Mandy's a card." The girl, quick-witted as she was bright looking, got his point almost at once. "You mean she was a Card before she married him?" "And she's a Card yet," Cap'n Abe said, nodding. "Guess you know a thing or two, yourself. What can I do for you?" "You can say: 'Good-evening, Niece Louise,'" laughed the girl, coming closer to the counter upon which the storekeeper still leaned. "Land sakes!" "My mother was a Card. That is how I came to see your joke, Uncle Abram." "Land sakes!" "Don't you believe me?" "I--I ain't got but one niece in the world," mumbled Cap'n Abe. "An'--an' I never expected to see _her_." "Louise Grayling, daughter of Professor Ernest Grayling and Miriam Card--your half-sister's child. See here--and here." She snapped open her bag, resting it on the counter, and produced an old-fashioned photograph of her mother, a letter, yellowed by time, that Cap'n Abe had written Professor Grayling long before, and her own accident policy identification card which she always carried. Cap'n Abe stretched forth a hairy hand, and it closed on Lou's as a sunfish absorbs its prey. The girl's hand to her wrist was completely lost in the grip; but despite its firmness Cap'n Abe's handclasp was by no means painful. He released her and, leaning back, smiled benignly.