ood, and disclosed the face of perhaps an Indian, perhaps a French
fisherman, perhaps an Irish soldier from the barracks. The customer now
mentioned his errand, and the merchant, rising in his turn, stretched
himself like a shaggy dog loath to leave the fire, took his little lamp,
and prepared to go in quest of the article desired, which lay, perhaps,
beyond the circle of heat, somewhere in the outer darkness of the dim
interior. It was an understood rule that no one should ask for nails or
any kind of ironware in the evening: it was labor enough for the
merchant to find and handle his lighter goods when the cold was so
intense. There was not much bargaining in the winter; people kept their
breath in their mouths. The merchants could have made money if they had
had more customers or more energy; as it was, however, the small
population and the cold kept them lethargically honest.

Anne and her father turned northward. The southern half of the little
village had two streets, one behind the other, and both were clogged and
overshadowed by the irregular old buildings of the once-powerful fur
company. These ancient frames, empty and desolate, rose above the low
cottages of the islanders, sometimes three and four stories in height,
with the old pulleys and hoisting apparatus still in place under their
peaked roofs, like gallows ready for the old traders to hang themselves
upon, if they came back and saw the degeneracy of the furless times. No
one used these warehouses now, no one propped them up, no one pulled
them down; there they stood, closed and empty, their owners being but so
many discouraged bones under the sod; for the Company had dissolved to
the four winds of heaven, leaving only far-off doubtful and quarrelling
heirs. The little island could not have the buildings; neither could it
pull them down. They were dogs in the manger, therefore, if the people
had looked upon them with progressive American eyes; but they did not.
They were not progressive; they were hardly American. If they had any
glory, it was of that very past, the days when those buildings were full
of life. There was scarcely a family on the island that did not cherish
its tradition of the merry fur-trading times, when "grandfather" was a
factor, a superintendent, a clerk, a hunter; even a voyageur had his
importance, now that there were no more voyageurs. Those were gay days,
they said; they should never look upon their like again: unless, indeed,
the