roked Judith's tawny
hair, his hand bold, winning; and he laughed most heartily. "His
name," says he, "is Daniel!"

"Yes, sir," said Judith, quite frankly.

My tutor laughed again; and I was glad that he did--in that kind way.
I was glad--'twas a flush of warm feeling--that my tutor and Judith
were at once upon terms of understanding. I was glad that Judith
smiled, glad that she looked again, with favor, in interested
speculation, into the dark eyes which smiled back at her again. I
would have them friends--'twas according to my plan....

* * * * *

At mid-day the wrath of the sea began to fail. The racing lop, the
eager, fuming crests--a black-and-white confusion beneath the quiet,
gray fog--subsided into reasonableness. 'Twas wild enough, wind and
sea, beyond the tickle rocks; but still 'twas fishing weather and
water for the courageous.

The fool of Twist Tickle came to our gate. "Mother always 'lowed,"
says he, "that when a man _could_ he _ought_ t'; an' mother knowed."

"You're never bound out, Moses!"

"Well," he drawled, "mother always 'lowed that when a man _could_ pick
up a scattered fish an' _wouldn't_, he were a mean sort o' coward."

"An' you'll be takin' _me_?"

"I was 'lowin'," he answered, "that us _might_ get out an' back an us
tried."

'Twas a brave prospect. Beyond the tickle in a gale o wind! 'Twas
irresistible--to be accomplished with the fool of Twist Tickle and his
clever punt. I left the pottering Cather to put ship-shape his cabin
(as he now called it) for himself--a rainy-day occupation for aliens.
In high delight I put out with Moses Shoos to the Off-and-On grounds.
Man's work, this! 'Twas hard sailing for a hook-and-line punt--the
reel and rush and splash of it--but an employment the most engaging.
'Twas worse fishing in the toss and smother of the grounds; but 'twas
a thrilling reward when the catch came flopping overside--the spoil of
a doughty foray. We fished a clean half-quintal; then, late in the
day, a rising wind caught us napping in Hell Alley. It came on to blow
from the east with fury. There was no beating up to the tickle in the
teeth of it; 'twas a task beyond the little punt, drive her to it as
we would. When dusk came--dusk fast turning the fog black--the fool
turned tail and wisely ran for Whisper Cove. 'Twas dark when we moored
the punt to the stage-head: a black night come again, blowing wildly
with rain--great gusts of w