storekeeper. That surprised Louise a little. She had presumed all these
people would display Yankee curiosity.

It was not a long journey by stage, for which she was thankful. The
noonday sun was hot and the interior of the turnout soon began to take on
the semblance of a bake-oven. They came out at last on a wind-swept
terrace and she gained her first unobstructed view of the ocean.

She had always loved the sea--its wideness, its mystery, its ever
changing face. She watched the sweep of a gull following the crested
windrow of the breakers on a near-by reef, busy with his fishing. All
manner of craft etched their spars and canvas on the horizon, only bluer
than the sea itself. Inshore was a fleet of small fry--catboats, sloops,
dories under sail, and a smart smack or two going around to Provincetown
with cargoes from the fish pounds.

"I shall like it," she murmured after a deeper breath.

They came to the outlying dwellings of Cardhaven; then to the head of
Main Street that descended gently to the wharves and beaches of the inner
harbor. Halfway down the hill, just beyond the First Church and the
post-office, was the rambling, galleried old structure across the face of
which, and high under its eaves, was painted the name "_Cardhaven Inn_."
A pungent, fishy smell swept up the street with the hot breeze. The tide
was out and the flats were bare.

The coach stopped before the post-office, and Louise got out briskly with
her bag. The driver, backing down from his seat, said to her:

"If ye wait till I git out the mail I'll drive ye inter the tavern yard