tage itself was
perched on the beach edge, and beyond it, on the left side, the
straggling grass began. They moved on toward this house, then, and as
they neared it a long, melancholy howl echoed the cow's lament, a howl
with a baying, mellow undertone that lingered on the morning air. For
it was honest morning now, a September morning, blowing wild-grapes
and sea sand and bayberry into Roger's nostrils. As he stared at the
house a great hound crept around the corner of it, baying
monotonously, but as he saw Margarita he left off and ran to her,
arching his brindled head. He was a Danish hound, beautifully brindled
and very massive. She fondled him quietly, smiling as he clumsily
threw his great paws about her waist, and pushed him down.

"I am very hungry," said Margarita abruptly, "I think I will have
Caliban bring me some warm milk."

She turned her direction slightly and made for the cow stall, and as
he stood by the door Roger saw that whatever the internal structure of
the building might be, it was certainly covered with rough sand.

"Here is Caliban now," she added, and a loutish looking fellow,
small-eyed, heavy-lipped and shock-haired, appeared to rise out of the
ground before them, dangling a milk pail on his arm. At sight of
Margarita his jaw dropped, he shivered violently and appeared ready to
faint, but as she called encouragingly to him he mustered courage to
approach and feel of her skirt timidly. He was evidently feeble-minded
as well as dumb, for with a sort of croak he dropped the bucket and
began to dance clumsily up and down, snapping his fingers the while.
Plainly he had thought her gone for good and this was his
thanksgiving.

"Milk the cow, Caliban, I am thirsty," said Margarita impatiently,
after a moment of this, "and get me some bread. Make haste with it."

He started on a run for the door furthest from the cow stall and
appeared almost immediately with a large silver mug and a huge piece
torn from a loaf. Squatting beside the cow he balanced the mug between
his knees and deftly milked it full. She seized it, drained it
thirstily and began munching her bread, holding the mug out to him
again to be filled a second time. She bit great mouthfuls from the
loaf, like a child of four, and Roger watched her, half amused, half
irritated.

"You are not accustomed to the exercise of hospitality, I see," he
said finally, and as she looked at him over the silver mug
inquiringly, he explained.

"I