palest amber to deep sullen purples and browns that melted into ebony.
These were the shells with voices, that spoke of the sea; many a child
raised them to his ear, and listened with vague delight to the far-away,
uncertain murmur; but not to every child is it given to hear the sound
of the sea, and it may be doubted whether any boy or girl would have
understood what the boy John meant, if he had declared the things that
the shell had said to him.

Where was John? Franci and Rento had charge of the deck exhibition, but
the Skipper kept his station at the head of the gang-plank, and while
courteously receiving his visitors, with a word of welcome for each, he
looked often up the road to see if his little friend was coming. He
thought the gleam of red hair would brighten the landscape; but it came
not, and the Skipper was not one to neglect a possible customer. Now and
again he would touch some one on the arm, and murmur gently, "In a few
moments presently, other exhibition in the cabin, to which I have the
pleasure of invite you. I attend in person, which is free to visitors."

He spoke without accent, the Skipper, but his sentences were sometimes
framed on foreign models, and it was no wonder if now and then he met a
blank stare. He looked a little bored, possibly; these faces, full of
idle wonder, showed no trace of the collector's eager gaze; yet he was
content to wait, it appeared. Mr. Bill Hen Pike judged, from the way in
which everything was trigged up, that the schooner "cal'lated to make
some stay hereabouts;" and the Skipper did not contradict him, but bowed
gravely, and said, "In a few moments, gentleman, do me the honour to
descend to the cabin, where I take the pleasure of exhibit remarkable
collection of shells."

But now the Skipper raised his head, and became in a moment keenly