the remembrance of Prue and the gentle influence of the day plunged me
into a mood of pensive reverie which nothing tended to destroy, until
we suddenly arrived at the landing.

As I was stepping ashore, I was greeted by Mr. Bourne, who passes the
summer on the island, and who hospitably asked if I were going his
way. His way was toward the southern end of the island, and I said
yes. His pockets were full of papers and his brow of wrinkles; so when
we reached the point where he should turn off, I asked him to let me
alight, although he was very anxious to carry me wherever I was going.

"I am only strolling about," I answered, as I clambered carefully out
of the wagon.

"Strolling about?" asked he, in a bewildered manner; "'do people
stroll about, now-a-days?"

"Sometimes," I answered, smiling, as I pulled my trowsers down over my
boots, for they had dragged up, as I stepped out of the wagon, "and
beside, what can an old book-keeper do better in the dull season than
stroll about this pleasant island, and watch the ships at sea?"

Bourne looked at me with his weary eyes.

"I'd give five thousand dollars a year for a dull season," said he,
"but as for strolling, I've forgotten how."

As he spoke, his eyes wandered dreamily across the fields and woods,
and were fastened upon the distant sails.