“Yes, mother,” Edward answered; “there is a jail, but so little use for it that they think it hardly worth while to keep it in decent repair.  I heard that a man was once put in for petty theft, and that after being there a few days he sent word to the authorities that if they didn’t repair it so that the sheep couldn’t break in on him, he wouldn’t stay.”

There was a general laugh; then Edward resumed:  “There has been one murder on the island, as I have been informed.  A mulatto woman was the criminal, a white woman the victim, the motive revenge; the colored woman was in debt to the white one, who kept a little store, and, enraged at repeated duns, went to her house and beat her over the head with some heavy weapon—­I think I was told a whale’s tooth.

“The victim lingered for some little time, but eventually died of her wounds, and the other was tried for murder.

“It is said the sheriff was extremely uneasy lest she should be found guilty of murder in the first degree, and he should have the unpleasant job of hanging her; but the verdict was manslaughter, the sentence imprisonment for life.

“So she was consigned to jail, but very soon allowed to go out occasionally to do a day’s work.”

“Oh, Uncle Edward, is she alive now?” Gracie asked, with a look of alarm.

“Yes, I am told she is disabled by disease, and lives in the poorhouse.  But you need not be frightened, little girlie; she is not at all likely to come to ’Sconset, and if she does we will take good care that she is not allowed to harm you.”

“And I don’t suppose she’d want to either, unless we had done something to make her angry,” said Lulu.

“But we are going to Nantucket Town to stay a while when we leave ’Sconset,” remarked Grace uneasily.

“But that woman will not come near you, daughter; you need, not have the least fear of it,” the captain said, drawing his little girl to his knee with a tender caress.

“Ah,” said Mr. Dinsmore, “I heard the other day of a curiosity at Nantucket which we must try to see while there.  I think the story connected with it will particularly interest you ladies and the little girls.”

“Oh, grandpa, tell it!” cried Rosie; “please do; a story is just what we want this dull day.”

The others joined in the request, and Mr. Dinsmore kindly complied, all gathering closely about him, anxious to catch every word.

“The story is this:  Nearly a hundred years ago there lived in Nantucket a sea-captain named Coffin, who had a little daughter of whom he was very fond.”

Gracie glanced up smilingly into her father’s face and nestled closer to him.

“Just as I am of mine,” said his answering look and smile as he drew her closer still.

But Mr. Dinsmore’s story was going on.

“It was Captain Coffin’s custom to bring home some very desirable gift to his little girl whenever he returned from a voyage.  At one time, when about to sail for the other side of the Atlantic, he said to her that he was determined on this voyage to find and bring home to her something that no other little girl ever had or ever could have.”