gaze was upon him. He could
meet all comers in a political argument, could hold his own against the
banter of the village gossips; he could even defy Willie and his
counsel; but to address Sarah Libbie on a matter so tender and of such
vital import was an ordeal so overwhelming that it caused his tongue to
cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his pulse almost to cease to beat.
Unlucky Jack!

Many were the evenings he tramped the dunes, rehearsing in the darkness
the momentous declaration that was to work a miracle in his solitary
life. Like an actor committing his lines, he would repeat the words,
hurling them upon the blackness of the night where, to the
accompaniment of the booming surf, they echoed with a majesty and
dignity astonishingly impressive. But in the light of day and Sarah
Libbie's presence, his sonorous philippic would dwindle away into a
jargon of garbled phrases too disjointed and meaningless to carry
weight with any woman, let alone the peerless Sarah Libbie Lewis.

Thus for more than a quarter of a century Jack Nickerson had silently
worshiped at the shrine of his divinity, and in the meantime the roses
in Sarah Libbie's cheeks had grown fainter, and tendrils of silver had
found their way into the soft curls that shadowed her brow. Still Jack
could not speak the words that were on his lips. Of course the little
woman could not do it for him, although she did venture by many a
subtle device to aid him in his dilemma. She baked for him pies,
cookies, and doughnuts of a delicious russet tint and sent them to the
station, that their aroma might gently prod into action her lover's
faintness of heart; these visible tokens of her devotion would
disappear, however, leaving behind them only a tranquil sense of
enjoyment; and as this lessened the fervor of her admirer's
determination would evaporate. Then Sarah Libbie would resort to less
ephemeral offerings,--scarves, wristers, mittens, patiently knitted
from blue wool and representing such an endless number of stitches that
Jack never viewed them without elation.

And as if these proofs of her regard were not sufficient, every evening
just at sundown she would light a lantern and flash a good-night to him
across the waters that estranged them. It was a pretty custom that had
had its beginning when the boy and girl had lived as neighbors on the
deserted highway that followed the horseshoe curve of the Belleport
shore. They had evolved a code where