THE BELTED SEAS




CHAPTER I.

PEMBERTON'S.


The clock struck one. It was the tall standing clock in the front
room of Pemberton's Hotel, and Pemberton's stands by the highway that
runs by the coast of Long Island Sound. It is near the western edge
of the village of Greenough, the gilt cupola of whose eminent steeple
is noted by far-passing ships. On the beach are flimsy summer
cottages, and hard beside them is the old harbour, guarded by its
stone pier. Whalers and merchantmen used to tie up there a hundred
years ago, where now only fishing boats come. The village lies back
from the shore, and has three divisions, Newport Street, the Green,
and the West End; of which the first is a broad street with double
roads, and there are the post office and the stores; the second
boasts of its gilt-cupolaed church; the third has the two
distinctions of the cemetery and Pemberton's.

The hotel is not so far from the beach but you can sit in the front
room and hear the surf. It was a small hotel when I used to frequent