n stood far back from the
ocean, at the head of a salt-water pond, shadeless and low-banked, a
mere inlet of the sea.

This pond, however, was the great attraction of Nepaug to Flint, for
in one of its coves lay an ungainly boat of which he was the happy
owner. She was a bargain, and, like most bargains, had proved a dear
purchase. True, the hull had cost only five dollars and the sails ten;
but she yawed so badly that a new rudder had become a necessity, and
that article, being imported, cost almost more than hull and sails
together. When all was done, however, and a new coat of paint applied,
Flint vowed she was worth any sixty-dollar boat on the pond. Once
afloat in "The Aquidneck" (for so Flint had christened her, finding
her a veritable "isle of peace" to his tired nerves) he seemed to
become a boy again. The Jonathan in him got the upper hand. All the
super-subtleties of self-analysis which in other conditions paralyzed
his will, and congealed his manner, gave place here to the genial glow
of careless happiness.

It was his fate to be dominated alternately through life by the
differing strains in his blood: one, flowing through the veins of the
old Puritans, chilled by the creed of Calvin; the other, of a more
expansive strain perpetually mocking the strenuousness of its
companion mood. Flint's friends were wont to say, "Flint will do
something some day." His enemies, or rather his indifferents,
scoffingly asked, "What _has_ Flint ever done anyway?" Flint himself
would have answered, "Nothing, my friends, less than nothing; but more
than you, because he is aware that he has done nothing."

The morning after Flint's arrival at Nepaug broke clear and cloudless,
yet he was in no haste to be up and actively enjoying it. Instead, he
lay a-bed, taking an indolent satisfaction in the thought that no
bustling duty beckoned him, and amusing himself by a leisurely survey
of the various corners of his bed-room.

It was scarcely eight feet in height, and the heavy, whitewashed beams
made it look still lower. In the narrow space between the ceiling and
wainscot, the wall was covered with an old-fashioned paper, florid of
design, and musty of odor. On the mantel-shelf stood two brass
candle-sticks with snuffer and extinguisher. As Flint stared idly at
them, wondering what varied scenes their candles had shone upon, his
eyes were drawn above them to a picture which, once having seen, he
wondered that he could ever have over