The main street of the ancient seaport town, upon which she gazed
expectantly, curved three miles around the harbor, and the narrow board-
walk which ran along one side of it all the way, ended abruptly just in
front of the house in a waste of sand. So there was nothing to be seen
but a fishing boat at anchor, and the waves crawling up the beach, and
nothing to be heard but the jangle of a bell somewhere down the street.
The sobs broke out again. "Hush!" commanded Mrs. Triplett, giving her an
impatient shake. "Hark to what's coming up along. Can't you stop a minute
and give the Towncrier a chance? Or is it you're trying to outdo him?"

The word "Towncrier" was meaningless to Georgina. There was nothing by
that name in her linen book which held the pictures of all the animals
from Ape to Zebra, and there was nothing by that name down in Kentucky
where she had lived all of her short life until these last few weeks. She
did not even know whether what Mrs. Triplett said was coming along would
be wearing a hat or horns. The cow that lowed at the pasture bars every
night back in Kentucky jangled a bell. Georgina had no distinct
recollection of the cow, but because of it the sound of a bell was
associated in her mind with horns. So horns were what she halfway
expected to see, as she watched breathlessly, with her face against the
glass.

"Hark to what he's calling!" urged Mrs. Triplett. "A fish auction.
There's a big boat in this morning with a load of fish, and the Towncrier
is telling everybody about it."

So a Towncrier was a man! The next instant Georgina saw him. He was an
old man, with bent shoulders and a fringe of gray hair showing under the
fur cap pulled down to meet his ears. But there was such a happy twinkle
in his faded blue eyes, such goodness of heart in every wrinkle of the