he was looking straight ahead, cheeks red.
"Indeed! So it's the man that mends the boats says these hateful things
about me, is it?"

"Why no, Aunt Kate; not hateful things. He says he's sorry for you. Why,
he says he don't know anybody more to be pitied than you are."

"Well--_really!_ I must say that of all the insolent
--impertinent--insufferable--"

"He says you would have amounted to something if you'd had half a chance.
But he's afraid you never will, Aunt Kate."

"I do not wish to hear anything more about him," said Aunt Kate
haughtily. "Now, or at any future time."

But it was not five minutes later she asked, with studied indifference:
"Pray what does this absurd being look like?"

"What being, Aunt Kate?" innocently inquired the being who was
very young.

"Why this sympathetic gentleman!"

"Oh, I don't know. He's just a man. Sometimes he wears boots. He's real
nice, Aunt Kate."

"Oh I'm sure he must be charming!"

She turned toward home, more erect, attending to her duties with a
dignified sense of responsibility.

The glare of day had gone, but without bringing the cool of night. It
made the world seem very worn. Little by little resentment slipped away
and she had joined the man who mended the boats in pitying herself. She
was disposed to agree with him that she might have amounted to something
had she had half a chance. No one else had ever thought of her amounting
to anything--amounting, or not amounting. They had merely thought of her
as Katie Jones. And certainly no one else had ever pitied her. It made
the man who mended the boats seem a wise and tender being. As against the
whole world she felt drawn to his large and kindly understanding.

Excitement had suddenly seized Worth. "Aunt Kate--Aunt Kate!" he cried
peremptorily, pointing to a cove in one of the islands they were passing,
"please land there!"

"Why no, Worth, we can't land. It's too hard. And why should we?"

"Oh Aunt Kate--please! Oh please!"

She was puzzled. "But why, Worthie?"

"Cause I want you to. Don't you love me 't all any more, Aunt Kate?"

That was too much. He was suddenly just a baby who had been made to
suffer for her grown-up disturbances. "But, dearie, what will you do
when we land?"

"I want to look for something. I've got to get something. I want to show
you something. 'Twon't take but a minute."

"What do you want to show me, dear?"

"Why I can't tell you, Aunt Kate. It's a surprise. It's a
beauti