He thought the gleam of red hair would brighten the landscape; but it came not, and the Skipper was not one to neglect a possible customer.

Now and again he would touch some one on the arm, and murmur gently, "In a few moments presently, other exhibition in the cabin, to which I have the pleasure of invite you.

I attend in person, which is free to visitors." He spoke without accent, the Skipper, but his sentences were sometimes framed on foreign models, and it was no wonder if now and then he met a blank stare.

He looked a little bored, possibly; these faces, full of idle wonder, showed no trace of the collector's eager gaze; yet he was content to wait, it appeared.

Mr.Bill Hen Pike judged, from the way in which everything was trigged up, that the schooner "cal'lated to make some stay hereabouts;" and the Skipper did not contradict him, but bowed gravely, and said, "In a few moments, gentleman, do me the honour to descend to the cabin, where I take the pleasure of exhibit remarkable collection of shells." But now the Skipper raised his head, and became in a moment keenly alert; for a new figure was seen making its slow way to the wharf,--a new figure, and a singular one.
An old man, white-haired and wizen, with a face like a knife-blade, and red, blinking eyes.