Page:Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, Volume 5.djvu/179

Rh porch, gay flowers in the garden, and the blue Atlantic rolling up at the foot of the cliff.

"A regular 'Cottage by the Sea.' It will suit me exactly if I can have that front upper room. I don't mind being alone, so have my trunk taken down, please, and I'll get ready for tea," said I, congratulating myself on my good luck. Alas, how little I knew what a night of terror I was to pass in that picturesque abode!

An hour later, refreshed by my tea and invigorated by the delicious coolness, I plunged recklessly into the gayeties of the season, and accepted two invitations for the evening, one to a stroll on Sunset Hill, the other to a clam-bake on the beach.

The stroll came first, and while my friend paused at one of the fishily-fragrant houses by the way, to interview her washerwoman, I went on to the hill top, where a nautical old gentleman with a spy-glass, welcomed me with the amiable remark,—

"Pretty likely place for a prospeck."

Entering into a conversation with this ancient mariner, I asked if he knew any legend or stories concerning the old houses all about us.