"Oh, my experience of a sailor's life has been limited," said the new passenger. "To tell the truth, I've never been as far East as this but once before. I was here for a few days, summer before last. My uncle lives at Bailey's Harbor, on Little Duck Island."
"Does he?" asked Jimmy Toppan,—"What's his name?"
"Alfred Peabody."
"Is HE your uncle?" exclaimed the Captain. "I know his house,—up there on the hill, aint it?"
"Yes, but he isn't there now. My aunt was there for a while, but she went away, about two weeks ago. The house is closed, I suppose."
Jimmy, who had been looking toward the shore, turned to the
Captain.
"This is Pingree's, isn't it, Captain?"
"Yessir; this is Pingree's Beach. Two of yer better go ashore an' see old man Haskell. That's his shanty,—the one with the red door. Ask him to let yer have a basket of clams. Tell him I sent yer."
Pingree's Beach was a short strip of sand, bordered with eel- grass. There were two small cottages, set above high-water mark, three dories drawn up on the shore, and a heap of lobster-pots and nets. Mr. Haskell could be seen moving in and out of his shanty.
Jimmy Toppan and Mr. Daddles went for the clams, after the latter had changed his bathing-suit for a shirt, and a pair of duck trousers. Captain Bannister sailed the "Hoppergrass" quarter of a mile below the beach, put about, and came back in time to pick them up when they returned in the tender. Mr. Daddles was interested in the idea of a clam-chowder. He had already noticed the funny little noise which the clams made, as their shells opened and shut.