Dunham had scarcely recovered from this when another girl, a smart summer boarder who favored him with a stare of interest as she entered, approached the proprietor. Mr. Frisk in his shirt sleeves was viewing a too precipitate world from behind his counter. "I'd like some marshmallows, please," said the girl. "Ain't got any," was the response, given with entire amiability. "Why," disappointedly, "you did have them last week." "Ye-us, I know. I tried carryin' ma'shmallers quite a spell: but't wan't no use. Seems if everybody wanted 'em. I couldn't keep 'em in stock any time at all, so I give it up." "Well, I do declare!" exclaimed the young woman. "And, Mr. Frisk, my mother is distressed because that cable message doesn't come from father. If it comes to-night"-- "Oh, that's so, there wus a telegram this noon. Ye-us, that's so. I remember now. 'Twus from yer pa." "Where is it? Why didn't you send it up, then?" John could hear the vexation fairly crackling in the speaker's voice. "Why, I see he got thar all right, so I didn't know as thar wus any drive." Some supporting sense of humor seemed to come to the girl, for John could hear her desperate chuckle as she went out with the cablegram. "Handsome evenin', Mr. Dunham," remarked the unmoved postmaster. "Bo't's late, ain't it?" John assented, and a wizened old man passed him and approached the counter. "Howdy, Frisk," he mumbled. "Got to have some more terbacca. Gimme a package o' Peace and Good Will, will ye?" The proprietor beamed sympathetically. "Ye'll have to try somethin' else this time, Uncle Ben," he drawled pleasantly. "I'm sorry, but the fact is my Peace and Good Will's mouldy." Dunham smiled, and looked over his shoulder at Benny. He was still cracking his heels gently against the flour barrel. The evening boat must be in soon, and then the boy would be out on the dock, lost in the excitement of its arrival. Dunham strolled up to him. "Good-evening, Benny." He was surprised at the unresponsive air with which the boy nodded. John was aware of having recently completed the capture of Benny's heart by replying to questions concerning the gold football on his fob; but to-night there was no lighting of the young sailor's face. "Come outside, will you, Benny? I want to speak to you." To John's further amazement, Benny, instead of bounding off the barrel, complied with reluctance; but they were finally out of doors in the velvet darkness that preceded the moonrise. "I want to know where you left Miss Sylvia," said John Dunham imperiously. The boy hesitated a minute, then spoke grudgingly. "At the Tide Mill." "How was she?" "Able to walk up to the house," responded the boy irritatingly. "Look here,"--Dunham laid a heavy hand on the other's shoulder, and Benny struggled vainly to shake it off. "What's the matter with you? Was Miss Sylvia ill? I didn't see her before she went."