"It used to be, when Ben was at college, that we could get plenty of good help in summer. He brought the boys right over to the island from New Haven. Some of them were glad of the job between college terms, and others just came for the fun of it. Why! once we had for a clerk all one summer the son of one of the wealthiest men in Wall Street." "Indeed?" responded Mrs. Cameron. "What was his name?" "Why, the other boys called him 'Griffin Junior.' I declare! I don't remember his real name. You know how boys are--always calling each other out o' name. Why! they called my Ben 'Quahaug' because he was naterally such a silent feller. Like his Grandfather Solon Truefelt. It positive is a cross for Ben to talk to folks like he has to when he acts as clerk. I heard him say only today that he'd give a pretty penny to have Grif here again." Carolyn's mother displayed a warmer interest in the matter than one might have expected a mere guest of the hotel to feel. "Do you not remember the young man's name?" she asked again. "Him they called 'Griffin Junior'? I declare! No. I'll ask Ben," said Mrs. Truefelt, bustling away. Sunrise the next morning saw Carolyn May and Prince awake and at one of the windows in Mamma's big room where they could watch the seafog roll away before the red, level rays of the sun just then appearing above the sea-line. As the fog fled and the smooth sea came into view, its surface seemed to be a sheet of glass. "Oh, Princey!" gasped Carolyn May, "I believe we could walk right out on it. I just believe we could do that very thing!" Prince sniffed. That did not appeal much to him--walking on the water. He might have enjoyed, nevertheless, a plunge into the sea. At this present time, however, he wanted his usual morning run. Carolyn hastened the completion of her toilet. As a usual thing she compassed all the buttons and buttonholes herself. Mamma was still asleep. The little girl and the dog crept out of the room as softly as possible. But once down the stairs they dashed for the out-of-doors in noisy delight. It was then Carolyn learned that her friend of the wooden leg, Captain Ozias Littlefield, washed down and holystoned the decks, as he called it, at this early hour. There he was with both trouser-legs rolled up to his knees, exposing one _bona fide_ leg with an anklet of blue and red tattooing, and the varnished "peg-leg" which was strapped to the stump of the other leg at the knee. He first scrubbed, or "holystoned," the porch in sections, and then washed it down with a garden hose. "Mornin', leetle gal," he said cheerfully. "How are you and your dog?" "Very well, I thank you," said Carolyn May, wishing much that she felt herself sufficiently acquainted with Captain Littlefield to ask him, point-blank, how he came to have a wooden leg. But she did ask: "Can I go anywhere I want to?"