tore was so still and dark that one might have been
inclined on first sight to consider him crusty and morose.

Even more remarkable than himself, however, was his store. I have seen
many in my time that were striking because of their neatness; I never
saw one before that struck me as more remarkable for its disorder. In
the first place it was filled neck-deep with barrels and boxes in the
utmost confusion. Dark, greasy, provision-lined alleys led off into
dingy sections which the eye could not penetrate. Old signs hung about,
advertising things which had long since ceased to sell and were
forgotten by the public. There were pictures in once gilt but now
time-blackened frames, wherein queerly depicted children and
pompous-looking grocers offered one commodity and another, all now
almost obliterated by fly-specks. Shelves were marked on the walls by
signs now nearly illegible. Cobwebs hung thickly from corners and
pillars. There were oil, lard, and a dust-laden scum of some sort on
three of the numerous scales with which he occasionally weighed things
and on many exteriors of once salable articles. Pork, lard, molasses,
and nails were packed in different corners of the place in barrels.
Lying about were household utensils, ship-rigging, furniture and a
hundred other things which had nothing to do with the grocery business.

As I entered the store the first afternoon I noticed a Bible open at
Judges and a number of slips of paper on which questions had been
written. On my second visit for oil and vinegar, two strangers from off
a vagrant yacht which had entered the little harbor nudged one another
and demanded to know whether either had ever seen anything like it. On
the third, my companion protested that it was not clean, and seeing that
there were other stores we decided to buy our things elsewhere. This was
not so easily accomplished.

"Where can I get a flatiron?" I inquired at the Postoffice when I first
entered the village.

"Most likely at Burridge's," was the reply.

"Do you know where I can get a pair of row-locks?" I asked of a boy who
was lounging about the town dock.

"At Burridge's," he replied.

When we wanted oars, pickles of a certain variety, golden syrup, and a
dozen other things which were essential at times, we were compelled to
go to Burridge's, so that at last he obtained a very fair portion of our
trade despite the condition of his store.

During all these earlier dealings there cropped up