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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Mr. Simeon Phinney emerged from the side door of his residence and paused a moment to light his pipe in the lee of the lilac bushes. Mr. Phinney was a man of various and sundry occupations, and his sign, nailed to the big silver-leaf in the front yard, enumerated a few of them. Carpenter, Well Driver, Building Mover, Cranberry Bogs Seen to with Care and Dispatch, etc., etc., so read the sign. The house was situated in Phinney's Lane, the crooked little byway off Cross Street, between the Shore Road at the foot of the slope and the Hill Boulevard - formerly Higgins's Roost - at the top. From the Phinney gate the view was extensive and, for the most part, wet. The hill descended sharply, past the Shore Road, over the barren fields and knolls covered with bayberry bushes and poverty grass, to the yellow sand of the beach and the gray, weather-beaten fish-houses scattered along it. Beyond was the bay, a glimmer in the sunset light.

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