336 I GO A- FISHING. 



hastened on hoping to reach Napeague before dark, but 

 the gloom overtook us before we passed Osborn's (the 

 first house), and by the time we reached the Mosquito 

 Territory it was profoundly dark, and the savages had it 

 all their own way. 



" The next hour was fearful, but as we emerged from 

 its horrors on the heights near Amaganset, a cool breeze 

 revived us, and the first light of that village cheered us 

 amazingly. 



" ' Do you know that there is a mystery of Amaganset?' 

 demanded Peter, who rode with the driver, and smoked 

 furiously in silence all across Napeague. 



"'No,' exclaimed the party unanimously ; ' do you ?' 



" ' No,' said Peter ; and the smoke increased about his 

 cloudy head. 



" ' What the deuce does Peter mean ?' suggested the 

 Squire, in a low voice. 



" ' I mean this, that Jonathan Pierson told me a story 

 once about some Long Island village, and when I came 

 through Amaganset the other day, I took it that must be 

 the place. The story fits there anyhow.' 



" ' Give us the story and let us fit it then, oh Peter.' 



" Puff — puff — Peter usually pulls hard at the cigar be- 

 fore he begins, and we judged correctly that he would 

 yield to our entreaties. And at length, little by little, 

 with interruptions to relight his cigar, we got the substance 

 of it. 



" Along the road that leads to the beach from the lone- 

 some village of (Peter called it Amaganset, and 



so will I, and no Amaganset man need trouble himself 

 to say it didn't happen there) lay a fine farm, in old times, 

 owned by Stephen Laton, a well-to-do man who lived in a 

 house by the road-side, with a wife and one child. All 



