mind, or rather,” and Brenda corrected herself, “off my mind.”
“I don’t see exactly how we’ll find him,” said Amy. “I can only take you to a neighborhood where I ’ve heard some foreigners have lately moved in. There’s a very old house, almost dropping to pieces, that some Poles have bought. They have fitted it up for half-a-dozen families, and it used to be one of the best houses in Salem.”
With her mind, therefore, fixed on Miguel Silva, I am afraid that Brenda did not pay very close attention to what Miss South told them about the old Custom House, as they stood in front of it, and admired its eagle and cupola.
“It’s a rather large building—for Salem,” said Julia.
“Why, yes,” and Miss South glanced at her book. “I see that long ago Hawthorne said that it was a world too large for any necessary purposes, and had been even in the days of Salem’s India trade, and at the present time it seems all the larger.”
“Hawthorne was collector here once, was n’t he?” asked Amy.
“Not collector, but surveyor of the Port,” responded Miss South. “The old Custom House owes most of its fame to him.”
Brenda, impatient at the turn of the conversation, was already some distance ahead of the others. Amy, consequently, felt it her duty to hurry on, and in a short time they were almost beyond speaking distance. One hand-
