past should come back--a possibility which did not seem so unlikely
on the island as it does elsewhere, since the people were plainly
retrograding, and who knows but that they might some time even catch up
with the past?

North of the piers there was only one street, which ran along the
water's edge. On the land side first came the fort garden, where
successive companies of soldiers had vainly fought the climate in an
agricultural way, redcoats of England and blue-coats of the United
States, with much the same results of partially ripened vegetables,
nipped fruits, and pallid flowers; for the island summer was beautiful,
but too short for lusciousness. Hardy plants grew well, but there was
always a persistent preference for those that were not hardy--like
delicate beauties who are loved and cherished tenderly, while the strong
brown maids go by unnoticed. The officers' wives made catsup of the
green tomatoes, and loved their weakling flowers for far-away home's
sake; and as the Indians brought in canoe-loads of fine full-jacketed
potatoes from their little farms on the mainland, the officers could
afford to let the soldiers do fancy-work in the government fields if it
pleased the exiled ladies. Beyond the army garden was the old Agency
house. The Agency itself had long been removed farther westward,
following the retreating, dwindling tribes of the red men farther toward
the Rocky Mountains; but the old house remained. On its door a brass
plate was still fixed, bearing the words, "United States Agency." But it
was now the home of a plain, unimportant citizen, William Douglas.

Anne ran up the path toward the front door, thinking of the children and
the supper. She climbed the uneven snow-covered steps, turned the latch,
and entered the dark hall. There was a line of light under the left-hand
door, and taking off her fur-lined overshoes, she went in. The room was
large; its three windows were protected by shutters, and thick curtains
of red hue, faded but cheery; a great fire of logs was burning on the
hearth, lighting up every corner with its flame and glow, and making the
poor furniture splendid. In its radiance the curtains were damask, the
old carpet a Persian-hued luxury, and the preparations for cooking an
_Arabian Nights'_ display. Three little boys ran forward to meet their
sister; a girl who was basking in the glow of the flame looked up
languidly. They were odd children, with black eyes, coal-black hair,
dark