with cabin and cooking
conveniences ready at hand, and nothing to do but sail and fish, or
explore the wild shores and fir-clad islands all about, was like a new
world to him. One day it was a fishing trip and a chowder party composed
of the entire family; and the next a frolic in an island grove where the
young men dug clams on a bit of sandy shore and afterward steamed them
among the rocks. Such opportunities were new to him, and with kind
friends near, and a feeling that he was thoroughly welcome in their home
added to the marvel of enchantment; while all about, the ever-present
sea made him almost forget the vexing problem of his future.

"It's like a visit to a fairy land," he said one day to his friend
Frank, as they were slowly drifting past a low green island. It was
nearly sundown, and the breeze had almost died away, so that the sloop
barely moved through the unruffled waters and every tree and rock on the
near-by shore was reflected clear and distinct. "To me," he continued,
"it is an entrance into an old-time wonder world, and to sail for hours
among these islands or in sight of shores where not a house or even a
fish hut is visible, makes it seem as if we were explorers first
visiting a new land. When we pass the entrance to some deep cove I half
expect to see an Indian paddling a canoe up into it, or spy a deer
watching us out of a thicket. My ideas of the ocean have been obtained
where islands are few, and passing ships or houses along shore are
always visible. Here it is so solitary. We seldom see a vessel and not
more than two or three small craft in an all day's cruise."

"That's the best of it," explained Frank, "you have it all to yourself.
But it's different in winter. You have too much of it to yourself then.
Altogether too much, for we are prisoners on the island for weeks at a
time, and that graveyard up back of the house makes it seem worse. I
wish you could come down here next fall and stay all winter. We don't do
a thing but eat and sleep or go ashore once a month for papers,
and"--laughing--"just think of what a good chance you would have to get
acquainted with your wife!"

Manson was silent. The suggestion opened a vein of vexatious thought in
connection with his dilemma that was not pleasant.

"Just think it over," continued Frank, not noticing his silence; "dad
and mother would be ever so glad to have you, and so would sis, if your
sweetheart ain't stuck up; is she?"

"No," replied Ma