done, the fact was impressed upon her as years went by that there were
many things which she could not do, simply because she was a Huntingdon
and because her name had been graven for so many generations around that
shining silver rim.

Although to older eyes the happenings of that morning were trivial, they
were far-reaching in their importance to Georgina, for they gave her
three memories--Jeremy's teeth, the Towncrier's bell, and her own name on
the porringer--to make a deep impression on all her after-life.




Chapter III

The Towncrier Has His Say



The old Huntingdon house with its gray gables and stone chimneys, stood
on the beach near the breakwater, just beyond the place where everything
seemed to come to an end. The house itself marked the end of the town.
Back of it the dreary dunes stretched away toward the Atlantic, and in
front the Cape ran out in a long, thin tongue of sand between the bay and
the harbor, with a lighthouse on its farthest point. It gave one the
feeling of being at the very tip end of the world to look across and see
the water closing in on both sides. Even the road ended in front of the
house in a broad loop in which machines could turn around.

In summer there was always a string of sightseers coming up to this end