" "The feller that can guess it two days ahead
of time," he declared, "is wastin' his talents; he could make a livin'
prophesyin' most anything, even the market price of cranberries." When
Caroline, Sylvester, and the captain reached South Denboro after what
seemed, to the two unused to the leisurely winter schedule of the
railroad, an interminable journey from Fall River, the girl thought
she had never seen a more gloomy sky or a more forbidding scene.
Gray clouds, gray sea, brown bare fields; the village of white or
gray-shingled houses set, for the most part, along the winding main
street; the elms and silver-leaf poplars waving bare branches in the
cutting wind; a picture of the fag end of loneliness and desolation, so
it looked to her. She remembered Mr. Graves's opinion of the place, as
jokingly reported by Sylvester, and she sympathized with the dignified
junior partner.
But she kept her feelings hidden on her uncle's account. The captain
was probably the happiest individual in the state of Massachusetts that
morning. He hailed the train's approach to Sandwich as the entrance to
Ostable County, the promised land, and, from that station on, excitedly
pointed out familiar landmarks and bits of scenery and buildings with
the gusto and enthusiasm of a school boy.
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