“Twenty miles by railroad,” he repeated. “Didn’t you ever hear of Concord of Revolutionary fame?” “Didn’t I ever hear of Concord? Why, I heard the guns fire at the battle of Bunker Hill. [They hear the sound of heavy cannon across the Bay.] I am almost ninety; I am eighty-eight year old. I was fourteen year old at the time of Concord Fight,—and where were you then?” We were obliged to confess that we were not in the fight. “Well, walk in, we’ll leave it to the women,” said he. So we walked in, surprised, and sat down, an old woman taking our hats and bundles, and the old man continued, drawing up to the large, old-fashioned fireplace,— “I am a poor good-for-nothing crittur, as Isaiah says; I am all broken down this year. I am under petticoat government here.” The family consisted of the old man, his wife, and his daughter, who appeared nearly as old as her mother, a fool, her son (a brutish-looking, middle-aged man, with a prominent lower face, who was standing by the hearth when we entered, but immediately went out), and a little boy of ten. While my companion talked with the women, I talked with the old man. They said that he was old and foolish, but he was evidently too knowing for them. “These women,” said he to me, “are both of them poor good-for-nothing critturs. This one is my wife. I married her sixty-four years ago. She is eighty-four years old, and as deaf as an adder, and the other is not much better.” He thought well of the Bible, or at least he _spoke_ well, and did not _think_ ill, of it, for that would not have been prudent for a man of his age. He said that he had read it attentively for many years, and he had much of it at his tongue’s end. He seemed deeply impressed with a sense of his own nothingness, and would repeatedly exclaim,— “I am a nothing. What I gather from my Bible is just this: that man is a poor good-for-nothing crittur, and everything is just as God sees fit and disposes.” “May I ask your name?” I said. “Yes,” he answered, “I am not ashamed to tell my name. My name is——. My great-grandfather came over from England and settled here.” He was an old Wellfleet oysterman, who had acquired a competency in that business, and had sons still engaged in it.