XXXVI. GOING, GOING, GONE!

XXXVII. A SOCIAL CYNIC

XXXVIII. THE END OF AN IDYL

XXXIX. A GRAY-HAIRED ROMANCE

XL. A GOOD SEND-OFF

XLI. EIN WUNDERBARES FRAULEIN

XLII. THE ROAD TO THE TEMPLE

XLIII. THE CYNIC'S SHADOW

XLIV. ONLY A MOOD

XLV. THE OLD HOME

XLVI. A NEW STAR

XLVII. LOVE ETERNAL

XLVIII. CONCLUSION

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE OLD TIDE-MILL

MONA

JESS HUTTON, PHILOSOPHER

THE DEVIL'S OVEN

THE BUBBLE BURSTS

ROCKHAVEN

ROCKHAVEN

CHAPTER I

ON ROCKHAVEN

"It ain't more'n onct in a lifetime," said Jess Hutton to the crowd of
friends in his store, "that luck comes thick 'n' fat to any on us 'n' so
fer that reason I sent over to the mainland fer suthin' o' a liquid
natur; 'n' now take hold, all hands, 'n' injie yerselves on Jess."

With that he began setting forth upon the counter, in battle array,
dozens upon dozens of bottles filled with dark brown liquid and
interspersed with boxes of cigars. For Jess Hutton, the oracle,
principal storekeeper, first selectman, school committeeman, prize story
teller, philosopher and friend to everybody on Rockhaven island, had
sold a few acres of granite ledge he set no value upon, for two thousand
dollars, half cash down; and being a man of generous impulses, had
invited the circle of friends most congenial, to "drop round ternight
'n' I'll set 'em up."

It is true that the cigars he passed out so freely were not imported,
still they were the best he kept, and not the cheap brand most in demand
on Rockhaven, and the bottles contained the vintage of hops and malt
instead of "extra dry," but both were urged upon all in a way that left
refusal impossible.

And of that unique gathering of men, with sea-tanned faces, garbed
mainly in shirt, trousers, and sailor caps, some wearing boots, some
slippers, some barefoot, nearly all addressed one another as "Cap" or
"Cap'n," for to own a fishing sloop or jigger on Rockhaven meant
distinction.

"I dunno how it all come about," said Jess, when the popping of corks
had ceased and the incense of cabbage leaves began to arise, "but I was
sorter dozin' on the counter that day when this bloomin' freak, with
white duck pants, 'n' cap, 'n' shirt, 'n' gray side whiskers, blew in,
'n' the fust I know'd, I heerd him say, 'Come, wake up, Rip Van Winkle!
I want ter buy yer quarry!'

"Then I sot up 'n' rubbed my eyes 'n' looked at him, sure he must be one
o' them make-believe sailors o