only wished that he could go up a little farther where he had been told the land was only one hundred yards wide,—­the narrowest part of the island.  After a shore dinner at the Wauwinet House, and another stroll on the beaches, they started for the town on the yacht “Lilian,” which twice a day went back and forth.  The wind was unfavorable, so they were obliged to go fourteen miles instead of seven, thus using two hours instead of one for the sail.  On their way they passed the places known as Polpis, Quidnet, and Coatue.  Mr. Gordon was so much impressed with the advantages of Coatue that he noted the fact in his note-book; while his wife became so much interested in the nautical expressions used that she declared that she should get Bowditch’s “Navigation,” and see if she could find those terms in it; she must know more of navigation than she did.  As they landed at the wharf they heard “Billy” Clarke crying out that the New Bedford band would give a grand concert at Surf Side the next day.  Now, as this kind of music had been the chief thing which they had missed among the pleasures of Nantucket, of course they must go and hear it.  So the next afternoon, at two o’clock, they were on the cars of the narrow-gauge railroad, bound for the Surf-Side Hotel, which they reached in fifteen minutes, passing on the way a station of the life-saving service department.  They spent an hour or two seated on the bluff overlooking the grand surf-beach, and enjoying the strains of music as they came from the hotel behind them.  It must be confessed that Mr. Gordon was so interested in noting the characteristics of this part of the island with an eye to business, that he did not lose himself either in the music of the band or the ocean.  On his way back to town, when he expressed his desire to build a cottage for himself on that very spot, Surf Side, Mrs. Gordon would not assent to any such proposition; for she had settled in her own mind that there was no place like Brant Point, where she and Bessie had been that forenoon; for did not the keeper of the light-house there tell her, when she was at the top of it, that on that spot was built the first light-house in the United States, in 1746?  That was enough for her, surely.  The matter was still under discussion when Miss Ray told them to wait until they had visited ’Sconset before they should decide the question.  As for her she could scarcely wait for the next morning to come when they should go there.  And when it did come it found her, at half-past eight o’clock, decorating with pond-lilies, in honor of the occasion, the comfortable excursion-wagon, capable of holding their party of eight besides the driver.  By nine o’clock they were driving up Orange street by the Sherburne and Bay View Houses, on their way to Siasconset, or, ’Sconset, as it is familiarly called.