ught. Won't the folks around here stare
at her! They always do at our boarders, but we've never had one like
her.

Ethel sprang up. "I had no idea you would be here so soon," she said
brightly. "Just wait till I get my hat."

When she came out they started off, and presently found themselves
walking down a grassy, deep-rutted lane that ran through mown hay
fields, green with their rich aftergrowth, and sheets of pale ripening
oats and golden-green wheat, until it lost itself in the rolling sand
hills at the foot of the slope.

Beyond the sand hills stretched the shining expanse of the ocean, of
the faint, bleached blue of hot August seas, and reaching out into a
horizon laced with long trails of pinkish cloud. Numberless fishing
boats dotted the shimmering reaches.

"That furthest-off boat is Young Si's," said Agnes. "He always goes to
that particular spot."

"Is he really all your father says?" asked Miss Lennox curiously.

"Indeed, he is. He isn't any more like the rest of the shore men than
you are. He's queer, of course. I don't believe he's happy. It seems
to me he's worrying over something, but I'm sure it is nothing wrong.
Here we are," she added, as they passed the sand hills and came out on
the long, level beach.

To their left the shore curved around in a semi-circle of dazzling
whiteness; at their right stood a small grey fish-house.

"That's Young Si's place," said Agnes. "He lives there night and day.
Wouldn't it make anyone melancholy? No wonder he's mysterious. I'm
going to get his spyglass. He told me I might always use it."

She pushed open the door and entered, followed by Ethel. The interior
was rough but clean. It was a small room, lighted by one tiny window
looking out on the water. In one corner a rough ladder led up to the
loft above. The bare lathed walls were hung with fishing jackets,
nets, mackerel lines and other shore appurtenances. A little stove
bore a kettle and a frying pan. A low board table was strewn with
dishes and the cold remnants of a hasty repast; benches were placed
along the walls. A fat, bewhiskered kitten, looking as if it were cut
out of black velvet, was dozing on the window sill.

"This is Young Si's cat," explained Agnes, patting the creature, which
purred joyously and opened its sleepy green eyes. "It's the only thing
he cares for, I believe. Witch! Witch! How are you, Witch? Well,
here's the spyglass. Let's go out and have a look. Si's catching
mackerel," a