wound in and out among the low hillocks, they came to the hollow
where grew the dark green thicket, through which they must pass to reach
the Appalachian range, the backbone of the island, where the trail gave
them an easier way than over the sands. Carrington went first and hacked
out a path with his knife; Keith followed, and held back the branches;
the whole distance was not more than twelve feet; but its recesses
looked dark and shadowy to the little Sister, and she hesitated.

"Come," said Carrington; "we shall never reach the salt marsh at this
rate."

"There is nothing dangerous here, senora," said Keith. "Look, you can
see for yourself. And there are three of us to help you."

"Yes," said Pedro--"three of us." And he swung his broad bulk into the
gap.

Still she hesitated.

"Of what are you afraid?" called out Carrington impatiently.

"I know not, indeed," she answered, almost in tears over her own
behavior, yet unable to stir. Keith came back, and saw that she was
trembling--not violently, but in a subdued, helpless sort of way which
was pathetic in its very causelessness.

"Take her up, Pedro," he ordered; and, before she could object, the
good-natured giant had borne her in three strides through the dreaded
region, and set her down safely upon the ridge. She followed them humbly
now, along the safe path, trying to step firmly, and walk with her head
up, as Keith had directed. Carrington had already forgotten her again,
and even Keith was eagerly looking ahead for the first glimpse of green.

"There is something singularly fascinating in the stretch of a salt
marsh," he said. "Its level has such a far sweep as you stand and gaze
across it, and you have a dreamy feeling that there is no end to it. The
stiff, drenched grasses hold the salt which the tide brings in twice a
day, and you inhale that fresh, strong, briny odor, the rank, salt,
invigorating smell of the sea; the breeze that blows across has a tang
to it like the snap of a whip-lash across your face, bringing the blood
to the surface, and rousing you to a quicker pace."

"Ha!" said Carrington; "there it is. Don't you see the green? A little
farther on, you will see the mast of the boat."

"That is all that is wanted," said Keith. "A salt marsh is not complete
without a boat tilted up aground somewhere, with its slender dark mast
outlined against the sky. A boat sailing along in a commonplace way
would blight the whole thing; what we want is