"Under a boat, high and dry at low tide, on the beach, John Wood was seated in the sand, sheltered from the sun in the boats shadow, absorbed in the laying on of verdigris. The dull, worn color was rapidly giving place to a brilliant, shining green. Occasionally a scraper, which lay by, was taken up to remove the last trace of a barnacle. It was Woods boat, but he was not a boatman; he painted cleverly, but he was not a painter. He kept the brown store under the elms of the main street, now hot and still, where at this-moment his blushing sister was captivating the heart of an awkward farmers boy as she sold him a pair of striped suspenders. "