"Yes, sir. Father----" and he fell abruptly silent.

They were walking together down the rutted road, and Marche glanced
around at him.

"What were you going to say about your father, Jim?"

"Nothing." Then truth jogged his arm. "I mean I was only going to say
that father and mother and all of us lived there."

"In New York?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is your--your mother living?"

"No, sir."

"I think I saw her picture in the sitting room," he said gently. "She
must have been everything a mother should be."

"Yes, sir."

"Was it long ago, Jim?"

"When she died?"

"Yes."

"Yes, very long ago. Six years ago."

"Before you came here, then?"

"Yes, sir."

After they had walked in silence for a little while, Marche said, "I
suppose you have arranged for somebody to take me out?"

"Yes, sir."

They emerged from the lane to the shore at the same moment, and Marche
glanced about for the expected bayman.

"Oh, there he is!" he said, as a figure came from behind a dory and
waded leisurely shoreward through the shallows--a slight figure in hip
boots and wool shooting hood and coat, who came lightly across the sands
to meet him. And, astonished, he looked into the gray eyes of Molly
Herold.

"Father could not take you," she said, without embarrassment, "and Jim
isn't quite big enough to manage the swans and geese. Do you mind my
acting as your bayman?"

"Mind?" he repeated. "No, of course not. Only--it seems rather rough on
you. Couldn't you have hired a bayman for me?"

"I will, if you wish," she said, her cheeks reddening. "But, really, if
you'll let me, I am perfectly accustomed to bayman's work."

"Do you _want_ to do it?"

She said, without self-consciousness, "If it is the same to you, Mr.
Marche, I had rather that the bayman's wages came to us."

"Certainly--of course," he said hurriedly. Then, smiling: "You look the
part. I took you for a young man, at first. Now, tell me how I can help
you."

"Jim can do that. Still, if you don't mind handling the decoys----"

"Not at all," he said, going up to the fenced inclosures which ran from
a rod or two inland down into the shallow water, making three separate
yards for geese, swans, and ducks.

Jim was already in the duck pen, hustling the several dozen mallard and
black ducks into an inland corral. The indignant birds, quacking a
concerted protest, waddled up from the shore, and, one by one, the boy
seized the suitable ones, and passed them over th