While Katy made coffee
and toasted biscuit Linda was busy introducing her party to brigand
beefsteak upon four long steel skewers. The day had been warm. The light
salt breeze from the sea was like a benediction. Friendly gulls gathered
on the white sands around them. Cunning little sea chickens worked in
accord with the tide: when the waves advanced they rose above them on
wing; when they retreated they scampered over the wet sand, hunting any
small particles of food that might have been carried in. Out over the
water big brown pelicans went slowly fanning homeward; and white sea
swallows drew wonderful pictures on the blue night sky with the tips of
their wings. For a few minutes at the reddest point of its setting the
sun painted a marvelous picture in a bank of white clouds. These piled
up like a great rosy castle, and down the sky roadway before it came a
long procession of armored knights, red in the sun glow and riding huge
red horses. Then the colors mixed and faded and a long red bridge for a
short time spanned the water, ending at their feet. The gulls hunted
the last scrap thrown them and went home. The swallows sought their high
cliffs. The insidiously alluring perfume of sand verbena rose like
altar incense around them. Gilman spread a blanket, piled the beach fire
higher, and sitting beside Eileen, he drew her head to his shoulder
and put his arm around her. Possibly he could have been happier in a
careless way if he had never suffered. It is very probable that the
poignant depth of exquisite happiness he felt in that hour never would
have come to him had he not lost Eileen and found her again so much
more worth loving. Linda wandered down the beach until she reached the
lighthouse rocks. She climbed on a high one and sat watching the sea as
it sprayed just below. Peter Morrison followed her.

"May I come up?" he asked.

"Surely," said Linda, "this belongs to the Lord; it isn't mine."

So Peter climbed up and sat beside her.

"How did the landscape appeal to you when you left the campfire?"
inquired Linda.

"I should think the night cry might very well be Eight o'clock and all's
well," answered Peter.

"'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world?'" Linda put it in the
form of a question.

"It seems to be for John and Eileen," said Peter.

"It is for a number of people," said Linda. "I had a letter from Marian
today. I had written her to ask if she would come to us for the summer,
in spite o