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Wilson whistled. "What in the world does he want with that swamp, I wonder?" he cried., Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. "They do say that Mr. Hinter visits the light-house regular every week. Have you heard that, Missus Keeler?", The wharves were old platforms black with tar or pitch, and at the back of them were three warehouses for the accommodation of such merchandise as this Old Harbour received or sent afloat. Perched midway on the slope that was terminated by the brow of the cliff where the windmill this morning was peacefully revolving its vans, was Old Harbour Town, a romantic grouping of little grey houses full of sparkling lozenge windows backed by a church spire, the whole looking in the distance like a toy that could be put into a box and set out according to taste upon a table by a child..