woman approaching seventy, of middle size, a quiet but firm step, and an
air of health. Her dress was of the fashion of the previous century,
plain, but as neat as everything around her--a spotless white apron
seeming to bid defiance to the approach of anything that could soil its
purity. The countenance of this old woman certainly did not betoken any of
the refinement which is the result of education and good company; but it
denoted benevolence, a kind nature, and feeling. We were saluted without
surprise, and invited in, to be seated.

"It isn't often that sloops anchor here," said the old woman-lady, it
would be a stretch of politeness to call her--their favour_yte_ places
being higher up, and lower down, the river."

"And how do you account for that, mother?" asked Marble, who seated
himself and addressed the mistress of the cottage with a seaman's
frankness. "To my fancy, this is the best anchorage I 've seen in many a
day; one altogether to be coveted. One might be as much alone as he liked,
in a spot like this, without absolutely turning your bloody hermit."

The old woman gazed at Marble like one who scarce know what to make of
such an animal; and yet her look was mild and indulgent.

"I account for the boatmen's preferring other places to this," she said,
"by the circumstance that there is no tavern here; while there is one two
miles above, and another two miles below us."

"Your remark that there is no tavern here, reminds me of the necessity of
apologizing for coming so boldly to your door," I answered; "but we
sailors mean no impertinence, though we are so often guilty of it
in landing."