Fosdick nodded reflectively. “I'm inclined to agree with you,” he said. “But does that mean that they're to correspond, write love letters, and all that?” “Why, in reason, maybe. If we say no to that, they'll write anyhow, won't they?” “Of course. . . . How would it do to get them to promise to write nothing that their parents might not see? Of course I don't mean for your grandson to show you his letters before he sends them to Madeline. He's too old for that, and he would refuse. But suppose you asked him to agree to write nothing that Madeline would not be willing to show her mother--or me. Do you think he would?” “Maybe. I'll ask him. . . . Yes, I guess likely he'd do that.” “My reason for suggesting it is, frankly, not so much on account of the young people as to pacify my wife. I am not afraid--not very much afraid of this love affair. They are young, both of them. Give them time, and--as you say, Snow, the thing may run down, peter out.” “I'm in hopes 'twill. It's calf love, as I see it, and I believe 'twill pay to give the calves rope enough.” “So do I. No, I'm not much troubled about the young people. But Mrs. Fosdick--well, my trouble will be with her. She'll want to have your boy shot or jailed or hanged or something.” “I presume likely. I guess you'll have to handle her the way another feller who used to live here in South Harniss said he handled his wife. 'We don't never have any trouble at all,' says he. 'Whenever she says yes or no, I say the same thing. Later on, when it comes to doin', I do what I feel like.' . . . Eh? You're not goin', are you, Mr. Fosdick?” His visitor had risen and was reaching for his coat. Captain Zelotes also rose. “Don't hurry, don't hurry,” he begged. “Sorry, but I must. I want to be back in New York tomorrow morning.” “But you can't, can you? To do that you'll have to get up to Boston or Fall River, and the afternoon train's gone. You'd better stay and have supper along with my wife and me, stay at our house over night, and take the early train after breakfast to-morrow.” “I wish I could; I'd like nothing better. But I can't.” “Sure?” Then, with a smile, he added: “Al needn't eat with us, you know, if his bein' there makes either of you feel nervous.” Fosdick laughed again. “I think I should be willing to risk the nervousness,” he replied. “But I must go, really. I've hired a chap at the garage here to drive me to Boston in his car and I'll take the midnight train over.” “Humph! Well, if you must, you must. Hope you have a comf'table trip, Mr. Fosdick. Better wrap up warm; it's pretty nigh a five-hour run to Boston and there's some cool wind over the Ostable marshes this time of year. Good-by, sir. Glad to have had this talk with you.” His visitor held out his hand. “So am I, Snow,” he said heartily. “Mighty glad.”