SILVER SHOAL LIGHT
CHAPTER I
WHICH BEGINS WITH THE END OF A JOURNEY
Joan Kirkland stood gazing absently across the bay from the deck of the old steamer Pettasantuck. She hardly saw the loveliness of the distant shore; the russet hayricks, green orderly meadow-patches, round, tufted trees, all mellowed by the afternoon haze of late June. She did not hear the gulls screaming defiance to the upper winds nor smell the ever-strengthening salt in the air. She was wondering whether her trunk lay safe in the throbbing depths of the Pettasantuck after the complicated transfer at Tewksville Junction.
The tarnished sign above the waiting-room door had proclaimed the place Tewksville Junction. It was there that Joan had eaten lunch, a thick ham-sandwich and a cup of lukewarm coffee, consumed from her perch on a high stool. The Pettasantuck was at least an improvement on the tedious train of the morning,
3
