side of her little, black, gambrel-roofed cottage. On learning my
errand, she became full of sympathy, and was soon emptying her
bureau-drawers in pursuit of the lost handkerchief. As she opened
the lowest drawer, I saw within it something which sent all the
blood to my face for a moment. It was a black cloth cloak, with a
stiff hood two feet long, of precisely the pattern worn by the
unaccountable visitant at the window. I turned almost fiercely
upon her; but she looked so innocent as she stood there,
caressing and dusting with her fingers what was evidently a pet
garment, that it was really impossible to denounce her.

"Is that a Bavarian cloak?" said I, trying to be cool and
judicial.

Here broke in the eldest boy, named John, aged ten, a native
American, and a sailor already, whom I had twice fished up from a
capsized punt. "Mother ain't a Bavarian," quoth the young salt.
"Father's a Bavarian; mother's a Portegee. Portegees wear them
hoods."

"I am a Portuguese, sir, from Fayal," said the woman, prolonging
with sweet intonation the soft name of her birthplace. "This is
my capote, she added, taking up with pride the uncouth costume,
while the children gathered round, as if its vast folds came
rarely into sight.

"It has not been unfolded for a year," she said. As she spoke,
she dropped it with a cry, and a little mouse sprang from the
skirts, and whisked away into some corner. We found that the
little animal had made its abode in the heavy woollen, of which