Not that Joe Helmford was a man who held himself aloof. Quite the contrary. He was as simple and unaffected as Pearl herself. Only he had seen more of the world than she, and he had no idea of becoming too familiar with Pearl, or with any other member of the Petty household. In other words, he knew his place and kept to it. He was friendly enough at mealtime; but he seldom appeared in the kitchen at any other hour save to ask for shaving water or to pass through to his room. He had immediately purchased an open grate stove in Paulmouth and had had Perry Baker, the expressman, bring it over, along with a ton of coal from the Cardhaven dock where the freight schooner tied up. So he had his own fire, before which he spent most of his free time in study. There was not much to do at the fish hatchery at this season, and Helmford had assistants there to watch things day and night. So he was able to study and read. Finding Pearl interested in books he advised her a little in the selection of reading matter from his library, which she bore off to her room, unknown to Sarah Petty. Tom Petty, however, soon became aware of the innocent intimacy between Pearl and the new boarder. He snarled and sneered and spoke so pointedly about it that his mother said, in wonder: "What do you care whether that feller, Helmford, pays attention to Pearl Holden or not? I sh'd hope you'd respect yourself too much to take any notice of hired help. What would your uncles, 'Poley and Perseus Heath, say--let alone their wives--if you undertook to hitch up with a pauper?" For once his mother's advice was not calculated to impress Tom Petty. He assumed, at least, the attitude of the dog in the manger. If he did not want Pearl himself, he did not purpose that Joe Helmford should have her. "You don't want to mix up none with that city feller, Pearly," he told her. "He's no good. You know what them city fellers are that come down here to the Cape in summer. He's like all the rest of 'em." "He isn't," declared Pearl, briefly and with firmness. "You don't know nothin' at all about him--who he is or where he comes from." "Did I say I wanted to know?" responded Pearl proudly. "Wal," said Tom, "you know you can't keep your eyes off'n him at table, and when he talks your ears hang open like the mouth of a dyin' codfish." "I don't, either, Tom Petty!" she cried furiously. They were out in the yard after their supper, and Pearl had been taking down a batch of washed clothes frozen to the clothesline. It was a cloudy night with no moon and was almost pitch dark. The clothes basket was at the girl's feet and separated her from Tom. "I don't, either, Tom Petty," she repeated. "Mr. Helmford is nothing to me. But he's a gentleman." "Aw, cat's foot!" scoffed Tom. "What's a gentleman? A dude with his pants ironed to a crease."