an hour or two seated on the
bluff overlooking the grand surf-beach, and enjoying the strains of
music as they came from the hotel behind them. It must be confessed that
Mr. Gordon was so interested in noting the characteristics of this part
of the island with an eye to business, that he did not lose himself
either in the music of the band or the ocean. On his way back to town,
when he expressed his desire to build a cottage for himself on that very
spot, Surf Side, Mrs. Gordon would not assent to any such proposition;
for she had settled in her own mind that there was no place like Brant
Point, where she and Bessie had been that forenoon; for did not the
keeper of the light-house there tell her, when she was at the top of it,
that on that spot was built the first light-house in the United States,
in 1746? That was enough for her, surely. The matter was still under
discussion when Miss Ray told them to wait until they had visited
'Sconset before they should decide the question. As for her she could
scarcely wait for the next morning to come when they should go there.
And when it did come it found her, at half-past eight o'clock,
decorating with pond-lilies, in honor of the occasion, the comfortable
excursion-wagon, capable of holding their party of eight besides the
driver. By nine o'clock they were driving up Orange street by the
Sherburne and Bay View Houses, on their way to Siasconset, or, 'Sconset,
as it is familiarly called.

As they passed a large white building known as the Poor Farm, Tom was
surprised that a town noted for its thrift and temperance should be
obliged to have such an institution. Bessie was glad to learn that they
were going over the old road instead of the new one, while Miss Ray
would rather have gone over the new one, so as to have seen the
milestones which Dr. Ewer, of New York, had put up by the wayside. They
met the well-known Captain Baxter, in his quaint conveyance, making his
daily trip to the town from 'Sconset. As they rode for miles over the
grassy moors with no trees or houses in sight, none of them could
believe that the island had once been mostly covered with beautiful oak
trees. Soon the village, with its quaint little houses built close
together on the narrow streets, which wound around In any direction to
find the town-pump, its queer, one-story school-house, its post-office,
guarded by the gayly-colored "Goddess of Liberty," was before, or rather
all around them. They had all e