"That is odd," thought Flint. "I fancied Quakers never wore jewels--conscientiously opposed to them, and all that sort of thing. Perhaps this damsel was a renegade from the faith, or perhaps this was some heirloom,--a protest against the colorless limitations of the creed. Queer thing the human soul. Can't be formulated, not even to ourselves. Sometimes I've seen people show more of their real selves to utter strangers at odd moments than their nearest and dearest get at in a life-time." This disjointed philosophy beguiled so much time, that Flint was late to breakfast. His fellow-boarders, a pedler and a fisherman, had gone about their business, and he sat down alone at the oilcloth-covered table, and twirled the pewter caster while he waited for his egg to be boiled. It was one of his beliefs that a merciful Heaven had granted eggs and oranges to earth for the benefit of fastidious travellers who could wreak their appetites in comparative security, especially if they did their own cracking and peeling. At length the breakfast appeared, and with it the innkeeper, who sat down opposite Flint. He had many weighty questions to put. Should oakum or putty be used in the seams of "The Aquidneck"? Should he pack the dinner-basket with beef or ham sandwiches? Would Flint take lines for fishing, or a net for crabbing? When all these were settled, Flint's thoughts drifted back to the portrait in the bed-room overhead. He began his questioning somewhat warily. "I suppose you've lived in this house for some time?" "Wall, ever since I wuz born." "And your father before you?" "Yes, and my gran'father before him, and hisn fust." "Ah, I see--an old homestead; and that portrait in my room is the wife of 'hisn'?" "Not exactly--we never had no womenfolks in our family ez looked like that--stronger built is ourn, with more backbone, and none of that lackadaisical look raound the eyes." "Pre-cisely," answered Flint. "And how does it happen that this lackadaisical-eyed portrait has hung so long without getting packed off to the garret?" "Wall, you see," began Marsden, slowly and with evident relish, "thet's quite a story about thet theer." "Yes?" said Flint, with a rising inflection which invited further confidence.