ralds, taunting one with treasures.

There are new names along the coast, though a few of the old ones
remain. They passed Gloucester, Thatcher's Island, rounded Rockport,
where in the inside harbor they had to unload part of their cargo. Then
on to Plum Island, where the rest were set ashore and the woman and her
children. Some few things were taken on board, but they were to stop at
Gloucester, going down for the return cargo.

They walked about a little and bought some ripe, luscious dewberries and
fruit.

"How queer it would be to live on an island and have to take your boat
when you went anywhere," and Cynthia laughed gayly.

"People do, farther up. There are a great many islands on the coast of
Maine, and fishermen are living on them."

"And in Boston Harbor Cousin Giles took us out. It's funny that they
don't float off. Do they go 'way down to the bottom of the sea?"

"I think they must. Sometimes one does disappear."

"Suppose you were living on it. And you saw the water coming up all
around you and you couldn't get away----"

Her eyes filled with a kind of terror.

"Oh, you would have some boats."

"But if it happened in the night?"

"We won't go and live on an island," he said with a smile.

It was rougher going back, but not bad enough to cause any alarm. The
wind had died down, but the swells were coming in. They stopped at
Gloucester and took on some boxes and great planks, and several pieces
of furniture.

"There's enough old truck in Salem now," declared Captain Green
ungraciously. "'F I had my way I'd turn it out on the Common and put a
match to it. Now there's the Hibbins--came over in 1680 and brought
their housen goods. There wan't any way of makin' 'em then but just
outen rough logs. An' now the old granma'am's died and 'twas her
mother's, I b'lieve, and Mis' Hibbins she's just gone crazy over it. And
they're buildin' a fine new house. Strange how Salem's buildin' up!
Those East Ingy traders do make lots of money. But before I'd have that
old truck in my nice new house!" And the captain gave a snort of
disdain.

He did not dream that before another hundred years had passed there
would be comparative fortunes made in the old truck.

"We'll be a little late gettin' in, but there'll be a moon. Lucky wind
ain't dead agin us."

How good the supper tasted, for Cynthia was very hungry. And then they
went on and on, hugging the shore, the captain said, until it was a kind
of shadowy wavi