he two companions came out upon the scene of
the one-time settlement of Appledore, all brilliance of light and air
and colour seemed to be sparkling together. Under this glory lay the
ruins and remains of what had been once homes and dwelling-places of
men. Grass-grown cellar excavations, moss-grown stones and bits of
walls; little else; but a number of those lying soft and sunny in the
September light. Soft, and sunny, and lonely; no trace of human
habitation any longer, where once human activity had been in full play.
Silence, where the babble of voices had been; emptiness, where young
feet and old feet had gone in and out; barrenness, where the fruits of
human industry had been busily gathered and dispensed. Something in the
quiet, sunny scene stilled for a moment the not very sensitive spirits
of the two who had come to visit it; while the sea waves rose and broke
in their old fashion, as they had done on those same rocks in old time,
and would do for generation after generation yet to come. That was
always the same. It made the contrast greater with what had passed and
was passing away.

"There was a good many of 'em."--Mrs. Marx' voice broke the pause which
had come upon the talk.

"Quite a village," her companion assented.

"Why ain't they here now?"

"Dead and gone?" suggested Tom, half laughing.

"Of course! I mean, why ain't the village here, and the people? The
people are somewhere--the children and grandchildren of those that
lived here; what's become of 'em?"

"That's true," said Tom; "they are somewhere. I believe they are to be
found scattered along the coast of the mainland."

"Got tired o' livin' between sea and sky with no ground to speak of.
Well, I should think they would!"

"Miss Lothrop says, on the contrary, that they never get tired of it,
the people who live here; and that nothing but necessity forced the
former inhabitants to abandon Appledore."

"What sort of necessity?"

"Too exposed, in the time of the war."

"Ah! likely. Well, we'll go, Mr. Caruthers; this sort o' thing makes me
melancholy, and that' against my principles to be." Yet she stood
still, looking.

"Miss Lothrop likes this place," Tom remarked.

"Then it don't make her melancholy."

"Does anything?"

"I hope so. She's human."

"But she seems to me always to have the sweetest air of happiness about
her, that ever I saw in a human being."

"Have you got where you can see _air?_" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. T