'Twas in him.Sam," he added, solemnly, "did I tell you I got a letter from him last week?""From Leander?"
"Yes....And before I got it he must have been wounded....
Yes, sir, before I got his letter....'Twas a good letter, Sam, a mighty good letter.Some time I'll read it to you.Not a complaint in it, just cheerfulness, you know, and--and grit and confidence, but no brag.""I see.Well, Charlie writes the same way.""Ye-es.They all do, pretty much.Well, how about Phineas? How does the old feller take the news? Have you heard?""Why, yes, I've heard.Of course I haven't talked with him.He'd no more speak to me than he would to the Evil One."Jed's lip twitched."Why, probably not quite so quick, Sam," he drawled."Phin ought to be on pretty good terms with the Old Scratch.I've heard him recommend a good many folks to go to him.""Ho, ho! Yes, that's so.Well, Jim Bailey told me that when Phin had read the telegram he never said a word.Just got up and walked into his back shop.But Jerry Burgess said that, later on, at the post-office somebody said somethin' about how Leander must be a mighty good fighter to be recommended for that cross, and Phineas was openin' his mail box and heard 'em.Jerry says old Phin turned and snapped out over his shoulder: 'Why not? He's my son, ain't he?' So there you are.Maybe that's pride, or cussedness, or both.Anyhow, it's Phin Babbitt."As the captain was turning to go he asked his friend a question.
"Jed," he asked, "what in the world have you taken your front gate off the hinges for?"Jed, who had been gazing dreamily out to sea for the past few minutes, started and came to life.
"Eh?" he queried."Did--did you speak, Sam?""Yes, but you haven't yet.I asked you what you took your front gate off the hinges for.""Oh, I didn't.I took the hinges off the gate.""Well, it amounts to the same thing.The gate's standin' up alongside the fence.What did you do it for?"Jed sighed."It squeaked like time," he drawled, "and I had to stop it.""So you took the hinges off? Gracious king! Why didn't you ile 'em so they wouldn't squeak?""Eh?...Oh, I did set out to, but I couldn't find the ile can.
The only thing I could find was the screwdriver and at last I came to the conclusion the Almighty must have meant me to use it; so Idid.Anyhow, it stopped the squeakin'."
Captain Sam roared delightedly."That's fine," he declared."It does me good to have you act that way.You haven't done anything so crazy as that for the last six months.I believe the old Jed Winslow's come back again.That's fine."Jed smiled his slow smile."I'm stickin' to my job, Sam," he said.
"And grinnin'.Don't forget to grin, Jed.""W-e-e-ll, when I stick to MY job, Sam, 'most everybody grins."Babbie accompanied the captain to the place where the gate had been.Jed, left alone, hummed a hymn.The door of the little house next door opened and Ruth came out into the yard.
"Where is Babbie?" she asked.
"She's just gone as far as the sidewalk with Cap'n Sam Hunniwell,"was Jed's reply."She's all right.Don't worry about her."Ruth laughed lightly."I don't," she said."I know she is all right when she is with you, Jed."Babbie came dancing back.Somewhere in a distant part of the village a dog was howling dismally.
"What makes that dog bark that way, Uncle Jed?" asked Babbie.
Jed was watching Ruth, who had walked to the edge of the bluff and was looking off over the water, her delicate face and slender figure silver-edged by the moonlight.
"Eh?...That dog?" he repeated."Oh, he's barkin' at the moon, I shouldn't wonder.""At the moon? Why does he bark at the moon?""Oh, he thinks he wants it, I cal'late.Wants it to eat or play with or somethin'.Dogs get funny notions, sometimes."Babbie laughed."I, think he's awf'ly silly," she said."He couldn't have the moon, you know, could he? The moon wasn't made for a dog."Jed, still gazing at Ruth, drew a long breath.
"That's right," he admitted.
The child listened to the lugubrious canine wails for a moment;then she said thoughtfully: "I feel kind of sorry for this poor dog, though.He sounds as if he wanted the moon just dreadf'ly.""Um...yes...I presume likely he thinks he does.But he'll feel better about it by and by.He'll realize that, same as you say, the moon wasn't made for a dog.Just as soon as he comes to that conclusion, he'll be a whole lot better dog....Yes, and a happier one, too," he added, slowly.
Barbara did not speak at once and Jed began to whistle a doleful melody.Then the former declared, with emphasis: "I think SOMEdogs are awf'ly nice."
"Um?...What?...Oh, you do, eh?"She snuggled close to him on the bench.
"I think you're awf'ly nice, too, Uncle Jed," she confided.
Jed looked down at her over his spectacles.
"Sho!...Bow, wow!" he observed.
Babbie burst out laughing.Ruth turned and came toward them over the dew-sprinkled grass.
"What are you laughing at, dear?" she asked.
"Oh, Uncle Jed was so funny.He was barking like a dog."Ruth smiled."Perhaps he feels as if he were our watchdog, Babbie," she said."He guards us as if he were."Babbie hugged her back-step-uncle's coat sleeve.
"He's a great, big, nice old watchdog," she declared."We love him, don't we, Mamma?"Jed turned his head to listen.
"Hum..." he drawled."That dog up town has stopped his howlin'.
Perhaps he's beginnin' to realize what a lucky critter he is."As usual, Babbie was ready with a question.
"Why is he lucky, Uncle Jed?" she asked.
"Why? Oh, well, he...he can LOOK at the moon, and that's enough to make any dog thankful."
End
