will be astonished and pleased. I ’m going to take you in your yachting cap, and cousin Edward in his shirt-sleeves, and—”
By this time they were driving down one of the hilly streets by which the centre of the old town was approached. They had been for some minutes driving through Marblehead, but had only just reached the more thickly settled portions.
“What queer houses!” exclaimed Julia. “I have never seen anything like them; they look as if they had just tumbled down here.”
“So far as the line of the street is concerned, I imagine that each Marbleheader suits his own taste. You know they are famous for being a rugged and independent set of people.”
“Their women certainly used to be,” said Nora; “at least, if the story of Floyd Ireson is to be believed.”
“There are two sides to that story. But the tarring and feathering part of it is probably true, and the house of Skipper Ireson is still standing.”
“Dear me! How I should love to see it!” cried Julia.
“Some day,” responded Mrs. Barlow, “you can make a pilgrimage over here; a great many houses more than a hundred years old are to be seen. Some of them belonged to rich merchants; but even many of the plainer buildings have some romantic story connected with them. I do not pretend to know half the landmarks myself, because we generally drive through in a hurry. But we must find some one who can walk about with you, and describe
