rich as dock mud," though still a young man, he promptly tore down his
father's old house, which stood on the crest of Whittaker's Hill, and
built in its place a big imposing residence. It was by far the finest
house in Bayport, and Heman made it finer as the years passed. There
were imitation brownstone pillars supporting its front porch, iron dogs
and scroll work iron benches bordering its front walk, and a pair of
stone urns, in summer filled with flowers, beside its big iron front
gate.

Heman was our leading citizen, our representative in Washington, and the
town's philanthropist. He gave the Atkins memorial window and the Atkins
tower clock to the Methodist Church. The Atkins town pump, also his
gift, stood before the townhall. The Atkins portrait in the Bayport
Ladies' Library was much admired; and the size of the Atkins fortune was
the principal subject of conversation at sewing circle, at the table of
"the perfect boarding house," around the stove in Simmons's store, or
wherever Bayporters were used to gather. We never exactly worshipped
Heman Atkins, perhaps, but we figuratively doffed our hats when his name
was mentioned.

The "Cy Whittaker place" faced the Atkins estate from the opposite side
of the main road, but it was the general opinion that it ought to be
ashamed to face it. Almost everybody called it "the Cy Whittaker place,"
although some of the younger set spoke of it as the "Sea Sight House."
It was a big, old-fashioned dwelling, gambrel-roofed and brown and
dilapidated. Originally it had enjoyed the dignified seclusion afforded
by a white picket fence with square gateposts, and the path to its
seldom-used front door had been guarded by rigid lines of box hedge.
This, however, was years ago, before the second Captain Cy Whittaker
died, and before the Howes family turned it into the "Sea Sight House,"
a hotel for summer boarders.

The Howeses "improved" the house and grounds. They tore down the picket
fence, uprooted the box hedges, hung a sign over the sacred front door,
and built a wide veranda under the parlor windows.

They took boarders for five consecutive summers; then they gave up the
unprofitable undertaking, returned to Concord, New Hampshire, their
native city, and left the Cy Whittaker place to bear the ravages of
Bayport winters and Bayport small boys as best it might.

For years it stood empty. The weeds grew high about its foundations; the
sparrows built nests behind such of its s