“The forenoons we usually spent in reading and writing, each in his or her chamber. (Oh, the journals, Ned!—­but you shall not see mine.) After a mid-day meal,—­I cannot call it dinner,—­we sat upon the stoop, listening while one of us read aloud, or strolled down the shores on either side, or, when the sun was not too warm, got into a boat, and rowed or floated lazily around the promontory.

“One afternoon, as I was sauntering off, past the garden, towards the eastern inlet, I noticed Perkins slipping along behind the cedar knobs, towards the little woodland at the end of our domain.  Curious to find out the cause of his mysterious disappearances, I followed cautiously.  From the edge of the wood I saw him enter a little gap between the rocks, which led down to the water.  Presently a thread of blue smoke stole up.  Quietly creeping along, I got upon the nearer bluff and looked down.  There was a sort of hearth built up at the base of the rock, with a brisk little lire burning upon it, but Perkins had disappeared.  I stretched myself out upon the moss, in the shade, and waited.  In about half an hour up came Perkins, with a large fish in one hand and a lump of clay in the other.  I now understood the mystery.  He carefully imbedded the fish in a thin layer of clay, placed it on the coals, and then went down to the shore to wash his hands.  On his return he found me watching the fire.

“‘Ho, ho, Mr. Enos!’ said he, ’you’ve found me out!  But you won’t say nothin’.  Gosh! you like it as well I do.  Look ’ee there!’—­breaking open the clay, from which arose ’a steam of rich-distilled perfumes,’—­’and, I say, I’ve got the box-lid with that ’ere stuff in it,—­ho! ho!’ and the scamp roared again.

“Out of a hole in the rock he brought salt and the end of a loaf, and between us we finished the fish.  Before long, I got into a habit of disappearing in the afternoon.

“Now and then, we took walks, alone or collectively, to the nearest village, or even to Bridgeport, for the papers or a late book.  The few purchases we required were made at such times, and sent down in a cart, or, if not too heavy, carried by Perkins in a basket.  I noticed that Abel, whenever we had occasion to visit a grocery, would go sniffing around, alternately attracted or repelled by the various articles:  now turning away with a shudder from a ham,—­now inhaling, with a fearful delight and uncertainty, the odor of smoked herrings.  ’I think herrings must feed on sea-weed,’ said he, ’there is such a vegetable attraction about them.’  After his violent vegetarian harangues, however, he hesitated about adding them to his catalogue.

“But, one day, as we were passing through the village, he was reminded by the sign of ‘WARTER CRACKERS’ in the window of an obscure grocery, that he required a supply of those articles, and we therefore entered.  There was a splendid Rhode-Island cheese on the counter, from which the shop-mistress was just cutting a slice for a customer.  Abel leaned over it, inhaling the rich, pungent fragrance.