"I cal'late," agreed Captain Littlefield, still grinning. "But how 'bout them folks to board, Molly I.?" "When they comin'?" demanded Miss Ball, more briskly. "Thursday." "And you know 'em, do you, little girl?" she asked Carolyn, smiling again. "Oh, yes'm. And you will just _love_ the baby!" "Shouldn't wonder. Well, you bring 'em over, Ozy. I'll have the place rid up and ready for 'em." Then she said to Carolyn: "Don't you want a drink of milk, little girl? And a slice of warm loaf with sweet butter on it?" It was mid-forenoon, and it seemed a long time since breakfast and a longer time still to lunch. "Oh, yes, ma'am," the little girl cried, and she hopped down gaily from the buckboard, with Prince leaping and barking beside her. "I don't know about that dog," said Miss Ball. "Does he bite?" "Only other dogs if they pitch on him--and his food," declared Carolyn earnestly. "He never eats humans." "Well, I sh'd hope not!" chuckled Miss Ball. She led the little girl (and of course, Prince) into the kitchen. Out of this opened a small milk-room with shelves of rough-hewn stone. She skimmed a pan of milk by drawing the leathery sheet of yellow cream together with two spoons and lifting it bodily into the waiting cream jar. Then she poured the milk into a tall glass pitcher where it almost foamed over. It was cool and sweet when Carolyn put her lips to the glass Molly Ball handed her. On the corner of the kitchen table the island girl set the great steamed brown "loaf," a slice of which she buttered and placed before her little guest. Bakery brown bread was well enough known to the little city girl; but this was made of windmill ground cornmeal and rye meal, and had a flavour that she had never tasted before. Prince likewise approved of Miss Ball's cooking, for he sampled a well buttered piece of the loaf. "I see he only acts savage at his food," said the island girl, complacently feeding Prince bits of buttered loaf with her fingers. "He's a nice dog." Naturally Carolyn's heart warmed toward her for that opinion. Miss Molly "Eyeball" seemed a very delightful acquaintance indeed. She was one of those persons, like the pale lady, to whom Carolyn May was immediately drawn. The little girl peeped out of the kitchen door at Captain Littlefield smoking his pipe, shrugged far down in the seat of the buckboard, with his wooden leg sticking almost straight up into the air. She whispered to the island girl: "Oh, say! Do you know how Mr. Cap'n Littlefield lost his leg? Say! do you?" "Why, no. I don't know that. When he came home here to the island to settle down he had that wooden leg and he'd had it, they say, some years. He's told enough yarns about it to fill a book; but I don't b'lieve anybody ever got the rights of it from him. Ozy Littlefield can be as close-mouthed as a clam if he wants to be." "Oh, dear!" sighed the disappointed little girl. "And don't you know how the other Mr. Littlefield lost _his_ leg?"