as called,--though it
was more properly a narrow bay, into which a small stream flowed from
the high lands farther inland. The village was called Rockhaven, and was
a place of considerable importance. It had two thousand tons of fishing
vessels; but the granite quarries in the vicinity were the principal
sources of wealth to the place Latterly Rockhaven, which was
beautifully situated on high land overlooking the waters of the lower
bay, had begun to be a place of resort for summer visitors.

The western extremity of the village extended nearly to the high cliffs
on the sea-shore, and the situation was very romantic and picturesque.
The fishing was the best in the bay, and the rocks were very attractive
to people from the city. The harbor had deep water at any time of tide.
For a summer residence, the only disadvantage was the want of suitable
hotels or boarding-houses. Of the former there were two, of the most
homely and primitive character, and not many of the inhabitants who had
houses suitable for city people were willing to take boarders.

John Carter pulled his passenger across the harbor, and walked with him
to the Cliff House, near the headlong steeps which bounded the village
on the west. He introduced him to Peter Bennington, the landlord, and
told his story for him.

"I am sorry for you," said Mr. Bennington.

"O, I've got money enough to pay my bill," interposed Harvey Barth, who
had a sufficiency of honest pride, and asked nothing for charity's sake.

The landlord showed him to a room, after he had shaken hands with and
bidden adieu to John Carter, it was not the best room in the house, but
it was neat and comfortable. Harvey inquired about the steamer to
Rockland, and was told that she would probably come the next day, and
return in the afternoon. The steward made himself comfortable, and ate a
hearty dinner when it was ready. In the afternoon he borrowed a pen and
ink, and began to write out a full account of the wreck of the Waldo. He
wrote a large, round hand, which was enough to convince any one who saw
it that he was or had been a schoolmaster. He worked his pen slowly and
carefully, but he entered so minutely into the details of the disaster
that he had not half finished the narrative when the supper bell rang.

Harvey did not resume the task again that day; he was too weary to do
so. That night he was ill and feverish, and in the morning had an attack
of bleeding at the lungs. The landlord sent