“Zoeth, you're a better man than I ever hope to be. I declare you make me ashamed of myself.” Neither of them ate much dinner, although Isaiah had prepared a cranberry pie, made from the first fruit of the fall season, and was correspondingly disappointed when both of his employers left it untouched. “Ain't a mite of use my slavin' myself to death cookin' fancy vittles for this crew,” he grumbled. “I stood over that cookstove this mornin' until I got so everlastin' hot that every time the cold air blowed onto me I steamed. And yet I can't satisfy.” “Oh, yes, you can,” observed Captain Shad, rising from the table. “You satisfied us too quick, that was the trouble. We was satisfied afore we got to the pie.” “Umph! I want to know! Well, Mary-'Gusta was satisfied afore that. She didn't eat hardly anything. Said she wan't hungry. I swan if it ain't discouragin'! What's the use of you folks havin' a cook? If you're goin' to have canary-bird appetites, why don't you feed on bird seed and be done with it? And I do believe I never made a better pie than that!” “Where's Mary-'Gusta?” asked Zoeth. “I don't know. She went up to her room. She may be there yet, or she may have come down and gone out again--I don't know. If she did come down I didn't see her.” Shadrach looked out of the window. It had been a dark, gloomy morning and now it was beginning to rain. The wind was whining through the tops of the silver-leafs and the moan of the breakers on the bar sounded with a clearness which denoted the approach of a northeaster. “Dirty weather,” observed the Captain. “And it'll be dirtier yet before night. You better stay here in snug harbor this afternoon, Zoeth. Simmie and the boy and Mary-'Gusta and I can tend store all right. Yes, yes, you stay right here and keep dry. Hope Mary-'Gusta took an umbrella when she went.” “I don't know as she has gone,” said Isaiah. “She may be upstairs in her room yet. That's where she was.” Shadrach, after calling “Mary-'Gusta” several times at the foot of the stairs, went up to make sure. The door of Mary's room was closed but, as he received no answer to his knock, he opened it and entered. Mary was not there, although it was evident that she had been there very recently. Apparently she had been writing a letter, for her writing case was spread out upon the table. Also the drawer in which she kept it had been left open, an unusual act of carelessness on her part, for, generally speaking, as her Uncle Shad said, “Nothin's ever out of place in Mary-'Gusta's room except some of the places, and that's the carpenter's fault, not hers.” The Captain stepped over to close the drawer. As he did so his attention was attracted by a photograph lying upon a pile of photographs in a box inside the drawer. He picked up the photograph and looked at it. It was that of Edwin Smith, taken when he seemed to be recovering from his illness, the one which showed him without a beard.