"How well you look, Dabney!" remarked the sharp-tongued little lady. "Drowning must agree with you." "Yes," said Dab; "I like it." "Do you know what a fuss they made over you when you were gone? I s'pose they'd nothing else to do." "Jenny!" suddenly exclaimed Dab, holding out his hand, "you mustn't quarrel with me any more. Bill Lee told me about your coming down to the landing. You may say anything you want to." Jenny colored and bit her lip, and she would have given her bonnet to know if Bill Lee had told Dab how very red her eyes were as she looked down the inlet for some sign of the "Swallow." Something had to be said, however, and she said it almost spitefully. "I don't care, Dabney Kinzer. It did seem dreadful to think of you three boys being drowned, and you, too, with your new clothes on. Good-morning, Dab!" "She's a right good girl, if she'd only show it," muttered Dab, as Jenny tripped away; "but she isn't a bit like Annie Foster. How I do wish Ham would come back!" Time enough for that; and as the days went by, the Morris homestead began to look less and less like its old self, and more and more like a house made for people to live and be happy in. Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters had now settled down into their new quarters as completely as if they had never known any others, and it seemed to Dab, now and then, as if they had taken almost too complete possession. His mother had her room, as a matter of course, and a big one. There could be no objection to that. Then another big one, of the very best, had to be set apart and fitted up for Ham and Miranda on their return, and Dab delighted in doing all in his power to make that room all it could be made. But, then, Samantha had insisted on a separate domain, and Keziah and Pamela imitated their elder sister to a fraction. The "guest-chamber" had to be provided as well, or what would become of the good old Long Island customs of hospitality? [Illustration: THE FIRE (SEE PAGE 748.)] Dab said nothing for a while, but one day, at dinner, just after the arrival of a letter from Miranda announcing the speedy return of herself and husband, he quietly remarked: "Now I can't sleep in Ham's room any longer,--I suppose I'll have to go out on the roof. I wont sleep in the garret or in the cellar." "That'll be a good deal as Mrs. Morris says, when she comes," calmly responded his mother. "As Miranda says!" said Dab, with a long breath. "Miranda?" gasped Samantha and her sisters. "Yes, my dears, certainly," said their mother. "This is Mrs. Morris's house, or her husband's,--not mine. All the arrangements I have made are only temporary. She and Ham both have ideas and wills of their own. I've only done the best I could for the time being." The girls looked at one another in blank amazement over the idea of Mrs. Kinzer being anything less than the mistress of any house she might happen to be in, but Dabney laid down his knife and fork with: