"It is true," she said. "I have noticed it. You _are_ getting younger, Cap'n Kendrick." "Am I? That's good. Be better yet if I didn't have such a tremendous long way to go." "Nonsense! You aren't old. When I first met you I thought--it sounds dreadful when I say it--I thought you were fifty, at least. Now I don't believe you are more than--well, thirty-five." "Oh, yes, I am. I am--humph!--let's see, I am--er--thirty-eight my next birthday. And I suppose that sounds pretty ancient to you." "No, indeed it doesn't. Why, thirty-eight isn't old at all!" The interesting discussion of ages was interrupted just then, but Sears found pleasure in the thought that she, too, had noticed that he looked and acted younger. It was being at work again, he believed, which was responsible for the rejuvenation; this and the now unmistakable fact that, although the improvement was still provokingly slow, his legs were better, really better. He could, as he said, navigate much more easily now. Once, at supper time, he walked from his room to the table without a cane. It was a laborious journey, and he was glad when it was over, but he made it. Judah came in just in time to see the end. "Jumpin', creepin', hoppin' hookblocks, Cap'n Sears!" cried Judah. "Is that you, doin' that?" "What's left of me, Judah. I feel just this minute as if there wasn't much left." "Well, creepin' prophets! I couldn't believe it. Thinks I, 'There's fog in my deadlights and I can't see through 'em right.' Well, by Henry! And a little spell ago you was tellin' me you'd never be able to cruise again except under jury rig. Humph! You'll be up to the town hall dancin' 'Hull's Victory' and 'Smash the Windows' fust thing we know." After supper the captain, using the cane but whistling a sprightly air, strolled out to the front gate, where, leaning over the fence, he looked up and down the curving, tree-shaded road, dozing in the late summer twilight. And up that road came George Kent, also whistling, to swing in at the Fair Harbor gate and stride to the side door. Before that object lesson of real youth Sears' fictitious imitation seemed cheap and shoddy. He leaned heavily upon his cane as he hobbled back to the kitchen. The next day something happened. Sears had been busy all the forenoon superintending the carting in and stowing of the Fair Harbor share of oak and pine from the wood-lot. Thirteen cords of it, sawed and split in lengths to suit the Harbor stoves and fireplaces, were to be piled in the sheds adjoining the old Seymour barn at the rear of the premises. Judah had been engaged to do the piling. The captain had hesitated about employing him for several reasons, one being that he was drawing wages--small but regular--as caretaker at the General Minot place; another, that there might be some criticism--or opportunity for criticism--because of the relationship, landlord and lodger, which existed between them. Judah himself scorned the thought.