He wore a cap, on the band of which was printed "_Truefelt House_" and he stood beside the rear step of the bus on the roof-sign of which the name of the hotel was repeated in black letters. Somehow his roving, humorous eye caught that of Carolyn May. It twinkled at once a friendly greeting. He waved a brown hand on the back of which, even at that distance, she could see the deep indigo markings of a tattooed pattern. He was one of the friendliest looking persons the little girl had ever seen. Even Prince smiled widely at the brown-faced man and uttered a sharp bark of greeting. Aside from the pleasant countenance of the man from the Truefelt House and his attractive manner, there was that particular thing about him that interested Carolyn May immensely. The right leg of his breeches was rolled up more than half way to his knee, revealing the varnished, brass-ferruled end of a wooden leg braced firmly upon the wharf. "Why," murmured Carolyn, wide-eyed, "he's a wooden-legged man! How funny! I wonder how long he has had that wooden leg and--and if it hurts him much." It did not appear to inconvenience the man a great deal, for he got to the head of the gangplank when it was run aboard as sprily as anybody. "Truefelt House! Truefelt House, Ma'am!" he was saying, when Carolyn May and her mother came up the plank. A salesman with two big sample cases was just ahead of the Camerons, and he thrust the heavy valises at the wooden-legged man. "Here you are," he said. "I'm for the Truefelt House." "And so is the lady and the leetle gal. Am I right, Ma'am?" queried the wooden-legged man. "Lemme have _your_ bag. That's it. You go right ahead, Mister," he added to the travelling man. "The good Lord has blessed ye with two arms and two laigs, _as_ yet. There's the bus just ahead of ye." Prince, in his eagerness, came near to getting his leash tangled around the man's wooden leg. "Belay there!" sang out the bus driver. "You take a turn around that spar, dog, an' ye'll likely lay me on my beam ends. What do you call him when he's to home, Sissy?" he asked Carolyn. "He's Prince. And if you please," said the little girl politely but with emphasis, "I'm _not_ 'Sissy.' I am Carolyn May Cameron. And this is my mamma." "Proud to know ye, Ma'am," said the wooden-legged man. "I'm bussin' jest now for Ben Truefelt and his marm who run the Truefelt House since his dad died. _I'm_ Ozias Littlefield. One o' the 'riginal Littlefields. They moved on to this island while the Injuns was still here, an' helped cut down all the timber so's to ketch an' kill the savages the better, I cal'late. "You git right aboard, Ma'am," he added, helping Mrs. Cameron up the rear step of the bus after the salesman. "Yaas'm; you can give me your checks. A man with _two_ laigs'll come down after the trunks when them deckhan's of Cap'n Ball set 'em off on to the wharf. You'm welcome, I am sure, Ma'am." "Now, leetle gal," he added, "you want to ride on the front seat with me?"