Here hung oilskins and guernseys, hats and caps with strings of ear-muffs and woolen mittens and "wristers" for winter work on the banks. Flannel shirts and jumpers, with overalls of dungaree, and even a lone dress-shirt, fly-specked, but still highly polished, aided in making a forest of clothing at one side of the room, and quite shrouding the show window. Piled on the other side of the stove was a miscellany of hardware of a nautical nature, with oars, oarlocks in clusters, lanterns plain and those in gimbals, a small capstan or two--indeed, a multitudinous collection of ship-chandlery in which one might find the furnishings of a dozen fashions of small craft. On the counter and on the shelves behind it were piled groceries and drygoods, fishing tackle and garden supplies, woodenware and crockery, in an equally confusing and astonishing variety. The loiterers in the store who made way for the newcomer gazed at him with more or less curiosity. The storekeeper bustled away for the snuff for which Cap'n Jonah asked. "That come in fresh this week," he said, returning with the snuff. "I keep that kind pertic'lar for Marm Coe who lives out yonder on the Neck. It's what keeps her alive, she says; and as she's got a round sum o' money laid away I expect her nephews an' nieces wish't I couldn't buy no more of it," and Cap'n Abe chuckled, "for they'll never git a smell of her fortune while Marm Coe's on airth." Cap'n Jonah opened the packet and poured the snuff into his silver box. Then he took a pinch neatly, sneezed with gusto, and wiped his nose with a spotless silk handkerchief. "Yes; I allow that's the stuff," he said. "You're Cap'n Jonah Hand, ain't you?" observed the storekeeper with quite as much cordiality as curiosity. "Washy Gallup was speakin' of you jest now. You're stoppin' up at Orrin Petty's?" Cap'n Jonah acknowledged these facts. The bewhiskered storekeeper waved an introductory hand. "I'd like to make you acquainted, Cap'n Hand, with Cap'n Joab Beecher, once master of the clipper-built _Ivanhoe_." The crippled Cap'n Joab arose with the help of his cane to give the newcomer a hearty handshake. "And here's Mr. 'Liphalet Truitt, as sailed steward many a v'y'ge in the Blue Ball Line o' windjammers. 'Liphalet's settled down here on the Shell Road, too. You old salts'll find much in common to talk about, I ain't a doubt. "These other fellers, Cap'n Hand," the storekeeper went on to say, "air Milt Baker an' Amiel Perdue, an'----Scuse me, Mr. Helmford!" He indicated a tall young man wearing shell-rimmed spectacles who stood back against a showcase, taking in the scene with quiet enjoyment. He was not of longshore origin, it was evident; yet he did not hold himself apart from the group around Cap'n Abe's stove.