Yet I had meant no pleasantry whatever, for really I was awed by the
mystery of it all. In the fog that rolled in with the north-east gale we
had left Will's Island, ten miles away, and skirted, without ever seeing
them, some miles of cliffs. We had avoided scores of rocks over which the
seas broke fiercely, and had finally dashed through a narrow opening in
the appalling face of the huge ledge, unerringly. To me it seemed like a
gigantic deed, beyond the powers of man.
The path began to widen, and Sammy again vouchsafed some information,
taking up his slender thread of narrative as if it had never been
interrupted.
"So they carries him up to th' house, on a fishbarrow, an' they sends for
me, an' wuz all talkin' to onst, sayin' I must git you quick an' never
mind what it costs. Them people don't mind what-nothin' costs, 'pears to
me."
By this time we had risen well above the waters of Sweetapple Cove. The
few scattered small houses appeared through the mist, their eaves
dripping in unclean puddles. The most pretentious dwelling in the place
is deserted. It boasts a small veranda and a fairly large front window
over which boards have been nailed. In very halt and ill-formed letters a
sign announces "The Royal Shop," a title certainly savoring of affluence.
But it is a sad commentary upon the prosperity of the Cove that even a
Syrian trader has tried the place and failed to eke out a living there.
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