The cabins of the fishermen were nearer the sea, and of these there were some twenty, but they were not grouped together.
I have said that the main village was a mile away. Here was the tavern, the grocery store and the shops of the tailor and shoemaker. Here was centered the social life of Cook’s Harbor. Here, unfortunately, the steps of John Trafton too often tended, for he always brought up at the tavern and seldom came home with a cent in his pocket.
Robert was no laggard, and it did not take him long to reach the village.
Just in the center stood the tavern, a rambling building of two stories, with an L, which had been added within a few years.
During the summer there were generally boarders from the city, who considered that the invigorating sea air, with its healthful influences, counterbalanced the rather primitive accommodations and homely fare with which they must perforce be content.
By hook or crook Nahum Jones—or Nick Jones as he was called—had managed to accumulate a snug competence, but much of it was gained by his profit on liquor.
He was a thrifty man, whose thrift extended to meanness, and his wife was thoroughly selfish. They had but one child—a daughter—who bade fair to be an old maid.
Though Robert had made no objection to carry the work to the tavern, he didn’t enjoy his visit in anticipation.
He disliked both Mr. and Mrs. Jones, but felt that this must not interfere with his aunt’s business.
He went round to a side door and knocked. The door was opened by the daughter—Selina Jones.