. But, at his
next words my interest returned. Still smiling, he lowered his voice.

"Miss Briggs, the young lady who just left us," he said, "is the
granddaughter of Captain Briggs, and she does not want the book to go
out of the family; she wants it for herself." I interrupted eagerly.

"But it is for sale?" Mr. Hatchardson reluctantly assented.

"Then I will take it," I said.

Fifty dollars is a great deal of money, but the face of the young lady
had been very sad. Besides being sad, had it been aged, plain, and
ill-tempered, that I still would have bought the book, is a question I
have never determined.

To Mr. Hatchardson, of my purpose to give the book to Miss Briggs, I
said nothing. Instead I planned to send it to her anonymously by mail.
She would receive it the next morning when I was arriving in New York,
and, as she did not know my name, she could not possibly return it.
At the post-office I addressed the "Log" to "Miss Briggs, care of
Hatchardson's Bookstore," and then I returned to the store. I felt I
had earned that pleasure. This time, Miss Briggs was in charge of the
post-card counter, and as now a post-card was the only thing I could
afford to buy, at seeing her there I was doubly pleased. But she was
not pleased to see me. Evidently Mr. Hatchardson had told her I had
purchased the "Log" and at her loss her very lovely face still showed
disappointment. Toward me her manner was distinctly aggrieved.

But of the "Log" I said nothing, and began recklessly purchasing
post-cards that pictured the show places of New Bedford. Almost the
first one I picked up was labelled "Harbor Castle. Residence of Fletcher
Farrell." I need not say that I studied it intently. According to the
post-card, Harbor Castle stood on a rocky point with water on both
sides. It was an enormous, wide-spreading structure, as large as a
fort. It exuded prosperity, opulence, extravagance, great wealth. I felt
suddenly a filial impulse to visit the home of my would-be forefathers.

"Is this place near here?" I asked.

Miss Briggs told me that in order to reach it I should take the ferry to
Fairharbor, and then cross that town to the Buzzards Bay side.

"You can't miss it," she said. "It's a big stone house, with red and
white awnings. If you see anything like a jail in ruffles, that's it."

It was evident that with the home I had rejected Miss Briggs was
unimpressed; but seeing me add the post-card to my collection, she
offered m