"Didn't no one live there--till 'bout a month ago. Then those two
gen'lemen came,--the P'fessor an' Mr. Snider. The house had been
empty for a year an' a half,--ever since old man Rogers died. He
was the last of the fam'ly, an' his folks have owned the island
an' lived in the house ever since the first one of 'em come over
in the 'Mayflower' or with Christopher C'lumbus, or somebody. When
Gran'father was a boy there was twenty-seven of 'em livin' there,
an' nineteen of 'em was children. Gee! there must have been a
mob,--all in one house! But they've been dyin' off, or movin' away
or somethin', an' when old man Rogers died there wasn't no one for
him to leave the prop'ty to but a hospittle or somethin'. An' the
hospittle aint never come to live there, or nothin', an' it's
stayed empty. I went over there once last summer, an' peeked into
the winders. ... But Mr. Snider an' the P'fessor are there now,--
they hired the whole island to 'stablish the Comp'ny on."

He stopped the car for some passengers,--two women and two little
girls who had been picking flowers beside the road. One of the
women commenced to ask questions and I did not get much chance to
talk with him again until we came to the end of the line, at the
causeway leading to Bailey's Harbor.

I decided not to linger at this point, but merely stopped to ask
the boy if I would be able to get a boat to row to Rogers's
Island.

"You won't want one," said he, "there's a bridge. You'll find it
all dry walkin'."

I learned what this meant, when, after about half an hour's walk,