ect. There were windows for the
grown folks, and windows for the children,--three or four apiece: as a
certain man had a large hole cut in his barn-door for the cat, and
another smaller one for the kitten. Sometimes they were so low under the
eaves that I thought they must have perforated the plate-beam for
another apartment, and I noticed some which were triangular, to fit that
part more exactly. The ends of the houses had thus as many muzzles as a
revolver; and if the inhabitants have the same habit of staring out of
the windows that some of our neighbors have, a traveller must stand a
small chance with them.

Generally, the old-fashioned and unpainted houses on the Cape looked
more comfortable, as well as picturesque, than the modern and more
pretending ones, which were less in harmony with the scenery, and less
firmly planted.

These houses were on the shores of a chain of ponds, seven in number,
the source of a small stream called Herring River, which empties into
the Bay. There are many Herring Rivers on the Cape: they will, perhaps,
be more numerous than herrings soon. We knocked at the door of the first
house, but its inhabitants were all gone away. In the mean while we saw
the occupants of the next one looking out of the window at us, and
before we reached it an old woman came out and fastened the door of her
bulkhead, and went in again. Nevertheless, we did not hesitate to knock
at her door, when a grizzly-looking man appeared, whom we took to be
sixty or seventy years old. He asked us, at first, suspiciously, where
we were from, and what our business was; to which we returned plain
answers.

"How far is Concord from Boston?" he inquired.

"Twenty miles by railroad."

"Twenty miles by railroad," he repeated.

"Didn't you ever hear of Concord of Revolutionary fame?"

"Didn't I ever hear of Concord? Why, I heard the guns fire at the Battle
of Bunker Hill." (They hear the sound of heavy cannon across the Bay.)
"I am almost ninety: I am eighty-eight year old. I was fourteen year old
at the time of Concord Fight,--and where were you then?"

We were obliged to confess that we were not in the fight.

"Well, walk in, we'll leave it to the women," said he.

So we walked in, surprised, and sat down, an old woman taking our hats
and bundles, and the old man continued, drawing up to the large,
old-fashioned fireplace,--

"I am a poor good-for-nothing crittur, as Isaiah says; I am all broken
down this year. I