Charlie made a discovery in the barn.  In that side toward the river there was a door on the first floor, and there was also a window in the chamber above.  Not only was the door closed, and closed also was the wooden shutter of the window, but over each iron hook dropped in its staple and securing the door and window were two nails stoutly driven.  All this Charlie had noticed before.  He now traced these half-obliterated words in chalk on the door:  “This is not to be opened.”  He was standing before this prohibition, wondering who put it there, and for what purpose, thinking how nice it would be to have the door open that the club might have a chance to get down that way into the dock.  Then he thought how pleasant it would be, also, to have the window open that the club might have a lookout upon the river and off toward the sea, on whose blue rim, a mile away, could be seen the white tower of the light-house, where Simes Badger and his assistant served their country alternate days.  Suddenly, Charlie heard a thick, hoarse voice behind him:  “Your Aunt Stanshy in, sonny?”

Charlie turned, somewhat startled, and there was Simes Badger himself.

“She has gone out, I guess, sir.”

“What are you looking at that door for?  I don’t believe your Aunt Stanshy wants you to open it.”

“O, I was not going to open it.”

If, after the half-effaced chalk-marks, Charlie had seen a written threat, “On pain of death,” he could not have been more determined to let that window alone.

“Do you know, Mr. Badger, who shut and nailed that window?”

“Aunt Stanshy herself.  I saw her with my own eyes.”

“You did?”

“Yes.  You see—­there, I don’t know but I’m telling a secret—­but then you won’t say any thing.”

Having made this prudent remark, and not waiting for any promise from Charlie, Simes, who dearly loved to tell a thing, and especially any thing that might astonish a hearer, began his story.

“You see, Tim Tyler is your Aunt Stanshy’s second cousin.”

“Tim’s father?” said Charlie, in astonishment.

“You mean young Tim Tyler’s father?  Ginerally old Tim is young Tim’s father, sartin as the sea is father of our river.  But this old Tim is young Tim’s uncle.  Then you didn’t know it?  Well, you are young, and I spose nobody told you.  Well, Stanshy and old Tim were brought up side by side in this neighborhood and were good as chickens to one another.  Some folks say they’d been better friends still, if their parents hadn’t set their faces agin it, and so they were never married to one another.  They were never married at all.  Did you ever see old Tim?”

“I don’t know as ever I saw old Tim, but then I’ve seen that boy, and he is rough,” said Charlie, recalling the afternoon of the Fourth.

“Tim Tyler don’t live in this part of the town, and it’s no wonder you never saw him.  He hardly ever comes down this way now, though he often did once.  Well, the wust lookin’ old drunkard you ever see about town, spot him for Tim.”