boats were at anchor in the river, but none of them was the
"Hoppergrass." Old and dilapidated wharves ran down to the river,
some of them deserted, and covered with grass. There were tumble-
down buildings at the water's edge, and they were mostly black
with age. The town looked as if it had been sound asleep for a
hundred years.

The Chief skilfully sailed our boat up to a wharf, where there was
a landing-stage, and all of us, except our skipper, went ashore.
Half way up the wharf we found a man, painting a row-boat. He knew
nothing about the "Hoppergrass" and said he had never heard of it.

"We'll walk up into the town," remarked Pete, "we've got to get
some grub, anyway."

We strolled up the wharf, and along a quaint and crooked street.
The sidewalk was so narrow that we had to walk in single file, and
the curb-stone, as Mr. Daddles put it, was made of wood. There
were a few shops, but as most of them sold ships' supplies, we did
not go in any of them. A pleasant smell of tar came from each
door.

Presently we reached a square or market place. Here were more
shops, a butcher's, a grocery, and one that announced "Ice Cream."
A peanut-stand, sheltered by an umbrella, stood in the middle of
the square, and toward this we made our way. An aged Italian sat
behind it, reading a newspaper. He sold us peanuts, and exchanged
facetious remarks with Mr. Daddles. As we left the peanut man, we
heard a far-off shouting. Down the street came a tall, thin man,
ringing a great dinner-bell. He was very lame and made slow