"Yes, and I did," said a dark, squat, sunny, little old fisherman, who
sold cunners for bait in a little hut next door.

"Maybe you and me are thinking of the same one, Jacob," said old Mr.
Main, looking inquisitively at the boat-builder.

"I think we've all got the same man in mind, likely," returned the
builder.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Charlie Potter," said the builder.

"That's the man!" exclaimed Mr. Main.

"Yes, I reckon Charlie Potter is contented, if anybody be," said an old
fisherman who had hitherto been silent.

Such unanimity of opinion struck me forcibly. Charlie Potter--what a
humble name; not very remarkable, to say the least. And to hear him so
spoken of in this restless, religious, quibbling community made it all
the more interesting.

"So you really think he is contented, do you?" I asked.

"Yes, sir! Charlie Potter is a contented man," replied Mr. Main, with
convincing emphasis.

"Well," I returned, "that's rather interesting. What sort of a man is
he?"