Marshall Turenne through the region known as the Palatinate. They brought with them much wealth in a portable form, and the officers and crew of the ship conspired to rob and then desert them. They put them on a short allowance of bread and water though there were plenty of provisions on board, and compelled them to pay the most exorbitant rates for such a miserable pittance as would support life.

When they had, at last, secured their last florin and the ship, which had been standing "off and on" for several weeks near the coast, had reached the vicinity of Block Island, the officers and crew deserted in the boats.

To go back to the story of the wrecked ship, if indeed that term is applicable, the Islanders towed her off the point on which she first stranded, in their boats, and beached her in a cove a mile or two farther south, near to the present entrance to the new harbor.

One of the passengers, a woman, who had become insane through her sufferings and her losses, refused to leave the wreck, and the first night after the ship came ashore, in some unknown manner, she took fire and was burned, with the woman board.

on

For perhaps a hundred years a peculiar light, which no scientist has yet been able to explain satisfactorily, was seen from time to time in the vicinity of Block Island, and the credulous and superstitious believed

that it was an apparition of the burning ship, and scores of reputable men, whose word in ordinary matters would be beyond question, have declared that they have sailed close enough to this supposed apparition to see masts, sails and ropes and even persons in the flaming rigging.

Such an apparition needed something to explain its origin, and so a story of the ship's having been lured ashore by false lights was invented and Whittier, with poetic license, enlarged upon and emphasized it to the great injustice of the Islanders, though it served to make the place known to thousands who had never before heard of it, and every summer hundreds of visitors go to visit the Palatine graves and hunt among the old farm houses for Palatine relics.

But the Island no longer needs the aid of legend or of poetry to bring people to its shores; it is indeed, in its delightful climate, its freedom from heat, from mosquitoes and from malaria, its cool winds. which come from the ocean blow they from whatever quarter they may, its accessibility from New York, New London and Newport or Providence, its telegraphic and telephonic cables, its two mails a day and its world-famed Crescent Beach with its delightful surf bathing, a Mecca for the invalid in mind or body, and a delightful summer home for those who would recuperate from the maddening whirl of modern life.

I.

a melancholy roar. The heavy south wind, now and then dropping to a plaintive tremulo, blew in a blast past the south-east corner of the house. The white light from the surf flared intermittently upon the window panes, making the flame from the rusty brass lamp glimmer dully by comparison. There was a solemn rhythm even to Sarah's knitting needles. Click-click: clickclick, click-click; like the swinging of the pendulum of a grandfather clock, these needles passed to and fro, Sarah's rocker moving to the same measured motive. No muscle of Sarah's face changed, and scarcely her lips, as she spoke.

"Charles, he went to sea an' wuz never heard on again, 'Zekiel he's dead an'," Sarah yawned wearily,

"an' now the clock's run down."

At the sound of his sister's voice, Hiram Eldredge did not raise his head from the kitchen table. His long, lank legs hung limply from the chair seat, his elbows covered half the length of the table and his back. had the curve of a flapping balloon jib.

"An' there," he continued, "wuz 'Mandy. She baant dead, but she's wuss an' on the county. Uncle Hiram he went looney over the Bible an' Father ain't never come home from that v'yage an' ain't never been heard on."

his legs, slouched over to the stove. He took off the lid, spat in the fire and returned to his chair. Mrs. Eldredge sitting with the Bible in her lap, rocked slowly.

"An' here," she said, "is the Bible yer Uncle Hi lost his wits on; yes, a-studyin' on this here Bible thet yer Grandfather guv him when he come twenty-one, yer Grandfather Linnell who wuz drownd-ded off'n East Orleans Point. Ye rec'lect yer Father's tellin' ye his watch wuz still a-goin' when his body, stiff and These here stark, come ashore.

verses wuz fav'rites of yer Uncle Hi's. He quoted 'em nigh every day: 'I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath. He hath led me, and brought me into darkness, but not into light. Surely against me is he turned; he turneth his hand against me all the day.' These are turrible words of the

Lord's an' Hi wuz remarkable fond on 'em."

Mrs. Eldredge sighed, the clickclick of Sarah's knitting needles became more measured and Hiram's head remained impassively upon his arms. The old kitchen seemed for the time being to have suspended all life. The surf light flared upon the small window panes. No one spoke.

"I cal'late I might's well move on to bed." Mrs. Eldredge lighted a yellow tallow candle. "Good night, Sary; good night, Hiram."

"Good night, Ma-aw," sighed Sarah.

II.

There was the sound of axe-blows on the sand-dune; undoubtedly wood was being split. In between the blows other sounds could be heard, undoubtedly the notes of a family melodeon. Hiram gave one long sweep with his axe blade, splitting his piece of mast driftwood from end to end; then he stopped to mop his forehead. As he was passing a red handkerchief over his face he started. There was to all appearances nothing to make him start. The cranberry bog, a soft, fresh green, lay placidly below at his feet; out on the water a few sea-gulls mewed, the ocean was tranquil and smoke curled lazily out of the house chimney. Except for the changes wrought by the processional of the seasons these things were as Hiram had always known them.

Yet Hiram's face betrayed excitement. In loud, vigorous notes, "Pull for the shore, boys, pull for the shore," floated over to him. This song was followed by "Hold the Fort," sung in militant fashion. Then the melodeon began softly

with "The Last Sweet Words of Mother." Hiram's face was just assuming its customary expression when the tune was rudely broken off, and "Fling Out the Banner," with a snap and a lash unfurled upon the air.

"Wa-al," drawled Hiram, sitting down on the pile of kindling wood, "Wa-al, I swan!"

"Hi, Hi!" came in shrill, cheerful tones. Hi jumped as if he had been shot.

an' some of them marsh marigolds in er glass. Looks kind of cheerful," concluded Sarah. "Come, Maw.”

Mrs. Eldredge gazed at Sarah. Hiram gazed at Sarah.

"Everything's on 'cept them popovers. Set down."

Sarah drew the pan of fragrant pop-overs from the oven, tumbled the contents out on a stout plate and gaily slammed the plate upon the table. Both Mrs. Eldredge and Hiram jumped.

This was Wednesday morning, and when pop-overs came at all, they came on Sundays. Sarah sat down.

"Nothing like a change, Maw. Help yourself, Hi. Good weather, ain't it, for swellin' the berries?"

"It's er bit too warm," replied Hiram.

"Well, but the cold ain't much better," Sarah added briskly.

"That's so," drawled Hiram; "there ain't much weather as is good for berries."

"Come, Maw, eat more; ye're picky, awful picky, ye aire. Eat hearty."

Mrs. Eldredge looked sharply at her daughter and Hiram stopped in the midst of a pop-over bite. And, after breakfast, when Sarah began to rattle the plates about in the dish pan, Mrs. Eldredge grew even more anxious. Rattle, rattle, clatter, clatter; such a swash and a stir this particular Cape Cod dish pan had never witnessed or endured before. All the morning there was the same stir and swash; out came the parlor rug on to the brown grass of the dune, in went the sunlight into the first floor bedroom, out went the very last particle of dust from the kitchen, and every mattress in the house was shaken up. Hiram, meanwhile, was