“Her money is as good as anybody’s,” he said. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t take it. She has enough of our money.” “That’s true, Robert,” said his aunt, her doubts removed by her young nephew’s logic. “Is the bundle ready. Aunt Jane?” “Here it is, Robert,” and the fisherman’s wife handed him a small parcel, wrapped in a fragment of newspaper. “How much is she to pay for the work?” “I hardly know what to ask. I guess twenty-five cents will be about right.” “Very well, Aunt Jane. Any other errands?” “If you get the money, Robert, you may stop at the store and buy a quarter of a pound of their cheapest tea. I am afraid it’s extravagant in me to buy tea when there’s so little coming in, but it cheers me up when I get low-spirited and helps me to bear what I have to bear.” “Of course you must have some tea, Aunt Jane,” said Robert quickly. “Nobody can charge you with extravagance. Anything more?” “You may stop at the baker’s and buy a loaf of bread. Then to-morrow--please God--we’ll have a good breakfast.” “All right, aunt!” and Robert began to walk rapidly toward the village, about a mile inland. Poor woman! Her idea of a good breakfast was a cup of tea, without milk or sugar, and bread, without butter. It had not always been so, but her husband’s intemperance had changed her ideas and made her accept thankfully what once she would have disdained. It must be said of Robert that, though he had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, he never increased his aunt’s sorrow by complaining of their meager fare, but always preserved a cheerful demeanor in the midst of their privations. I have said that the settlement, which was known as Cook’s Harbor, was a fishing village, but this is not wholly correct. A mile inland was a village of fair size, which included the houses of several summer residents from the city, and these were more or less pretentious. Several comfortable houses belonged to sea captains who had retired from active duties and anchored in the village where they first saw the light. The cabins of the fishermen were nearer the sea, and of these there were some twenty, but they were not grouped together. I have said that the main village was a mile away. Here was the tavern, the grocery store and the shops of the tailor and shoemaker. Here was centered the social life of Cook’s Harbor. Here, unfortunately, the steps of John Trafton too often tended, for he always brought up at the tavern and seldom came home with a cent in his pocket. Robert was no laggard, and it did not take him long to reach the village. Just in the center stood the tavern, a rambling building of two stories, with an L, which had been added within a few years. During the summer there were generally boarders from the city, who considered that the invigorating sea air, with its healthful influences, counterbalanced the rather primitive accommodations and homely fare with which they must perforce be content.