Though I Had Never Heard Of
Their Existence Till I Entered Core Sound, The
Kindness Of These People Was Like That Of Old
Friends.
Half a mile below Captain Mason's home, a
short time before my visit, a new breach had
been made
By the ocean through the beach.
About twenty years before a similar breach had
occurred in the same locality, and was known
during its short life as "Pillintary Inlet." The
next day I crossed the sound, which is here four
miles in width, and coasted along to the
oystermen's village of Hunting Quarters, on the
mainland. The houses were very small, but the
hearts of the poor folks were very large. They
came to the water's edge and carried the canoe
into the only store in the neighborhood. Its
proprietor, Mr. William H. Stewart, insisted
upon my sharing his bachelor's quarters in an
unfinished room of the storehouse. My young
host was hardly out of his teens. In his boyish
way he kindly remarked:
"I am here all alone. Father told me, before
he died, never to let a stranger pass my door but
to make him share my lodgings, humble though
they are; and now, any way, you're just in time
for the fun, for we are to have three weddings
to-night, and all the boys and girls of the
neighborhood will be at Hunting Quarters."
I entered a mild protest against joining in the
festivities, on the plea of not having received an
invitation; at which the handsome youth laughed
heartily.
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