the portygee

The Portygeeby Joseph C. LincolnCHAPTER IOverhead the clouds cloaked the sky; a ragged cloak it was, and,here and there, a star shone through a hole, to be obscured almostinstantly as more cloud tatters were hurled across the rent. Thepines threshed on the hill tops. The bare branches of the wild-cherry and silverleaf trees scraped and rattled and tossed. Andthe wind, the raw, chilling December wind, driven in, wet andsalty, from the sea, tore over the dunes and brown uplands andacross the frozen salt-meadows, screamed through the telegraphwires, and made the platform of the dismal South Harniss railwaystation the lonesomest, coldest, darkest and most miserable spot on...

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