uld not tell him, and our conversation ended.
I returned to Boston that afternoon, but I was n't satisfied.
There was something about the atmosphere of Medford that appealed to me, and the following week I packed my carpet bag and went back, this time by train.
I found a boarding place in the square, in the house on the corner of Forest and Salem streets, where Timothy Cotting afterward erected his brick block.
A baker named Richardson occupied one half, while the other was lived in by Mr. Gibbs, the worthy watchmaker, whose store was just opposite.
On the opposite corner of the same streets stood an ancient building, the Tufts house, I think it was called, with one or two immense trees in front.
At that time it was occupied—the lower half, at least—by a Mr. Peak, whose family later toured New England as the Bell Ringers.
Mr. Peak was a skilful barber, as well as a hustling periodical dealer.
He was a slender, active man, with a face that showed the traces of smallpox.