Now that the journey was almost at an end, Joan began to realize the foolish haste of her plan. But if she repented at all of her rashness, she did not consciously confess it, although she was now far angrier with herself than with Mr. Sinclair. As the Pettasantuck gradually left mid-channel and swung landward, Joan crossed the deck and found that the boat had entered Quimpaug Harbor. Under a sheltering hillside the little village lay huddled on the shore. The sprinkling of gray roofs straggled down to the very edge of the water, where a few weather-beaten piers reached out like gaunt old arms. Skiffs and sail-boats, moored close in, curtsied merrily to the steamer as they caught the waves of her wake.
Aboard the boat an engine-room bell sounded once. The Pettasantuck slid silently toward the boat-landing. Twice, and her paddle-wheels thrashed distractedly and sent a lather of foam churning in among the green piles of the wharf. Once again, and she lay panting and motionless, while men ran with hawsers and the gang-plank went out with a clatter.
The Harbor View House, as its advertisement had truthfully stated, was but two minutes' walk from the landing. It stood at the
