"Suppose you are a little mite--er--different from the--well, from the heft of mackerel in the keg, what of it?
That's your own private business, ain't it ?" Jed's lip twitched.

"I suppose 'tis," he drawled.

"If it wan't there wouldn't be so many folks interested in it." At first he missed the freedom to which he had accustomed himself during his years of solitude, the liberty of preparing for bed with the doors and windows toward the sea wide open and the shades not drawn; of strolling out to the well at unearthly hours of the early morning singing at the top of his lungs; of washing face and hands in a tin basin on a bench by that well curb instead of within doors.

There were some necessary concessions to convention to which his attention was called by Captain Hunniwell, who took it upon himself to act as a sort of social mentor.
"Do you always wash outdoors there ?" asked the captain, after watching one set of ablutions.
"Why--er--yes, I 'most generally do in good weather.

It's sort of-- er--well, sort of cool and roomy, as you might say." "Roomy, eh?
Gracious king! Well, I should say you needed room.
You splash into that basin like a kedge anchor goin' overboard and when you come out of it you puff like a grampus comin' up to blow.
How do you cal'late Mrs.Armstrong enjoys seein' you do that ?" Jed looked startled and much disturbed.