The Belted Seas

und. It is near the western edge of the village of Greenough, the gilt cupola of whose eminent steeple is noted by far-passing ships. On the beach are flimsy summer cottag

of which the first is a broad street with double roads, and there are the post office and the stores; the se

rick complexion resembled its owner's. His wife was dead, and he ran the hotel much alone, except for the company of Uncle Abimelech, Captain Buckingham, Stevey Todd, and such others as came and went, or townsfolk who liked the anchorage. But the three I have named were seamen, and I always found them by Pemberton's chimney. Abe Dalrimple, or Uncle Abe, was near Pemberton's age, and had l

s dark and immobile. But now and then there would come a glimmer and twist in his eyes, sometimes he would start in talking and flow on like a rive

distant surf was moaning and the wind heaping the snow agai

was in '72 or a bit bef

s a good trade, as keeping a

like Pem

like Pemb

asi

nland

er ho

hotel. Always

st hav

d. It was in

h Ame

up in New Bedford by Smith and Morgan, and

export hotels t

ld he say just then. For he was that kind of a man, Ca

ent fond of arguing, though cautious about it. For that winter afternoon, when I remarked, hearing the whistling wind and the thunder of the surf, "It blows hard, Mr. Todd," Stevey Todd answered cautiously, "If you called it brisk, I wouldn't m

aloft, she

our topsa

blowing hard. But Stevey Todd was the kind

e subject of hotel-keeping in South America. But when Stevey Todd offered to admit th

aloft, she

our topsa

s knees, staring at the fire, at last, without stirring in his chair, he spoke

and they come to you. And if I was doing it again, or my old ship, the Annalee, was to come banging and b

odd, "seeing it blows brisk, which I admits and I stand

m; "the best ship I ever sailed

a ship!" and Uncle Abimelech piped up

e was

iley'

evil

aile

ailey'

way, with C

man with a

Maitland sai

the coast

t kind of a memory that's loose, but stringy and long, and he always had. There's only Abe and Stevey Todd and me left of the Hebe Maitland's crew, unles

erton, "there yo

n, "which if he's blown up with dynamite, he comes dow

ong way, which he surely did. The afternoon slipped on, hour by hour, and the fire snapped and cast its red li

not large, but limber and clipper-built, and happy any side up, and my notion of human life was that it