"You shall have some to-morrow for breakfast. We'll get them this afternoon."
"You are adding more and more inducements," returned Gwen. "Indeed, Mr. Williams, I don't know what I should do without you. There is scarcely a day but you smooth out some difficulty for me."
The man paused before starting off with his load. An inscrutable look was on his face. "Sometimes," he said slowly, "Heaven gives us opportunities we thought we had lost." After which speech he moved on, leaving Gwen to walk slowly home, pondering upon the mystifying remark.
"He certainly is a queer man," she told Miss Elliott, after triumphantly displaying the fish.
"He has evidently taken a great fancy to you," remarked Miss Elliott. "Carry the fish out to Lizzie, please, and tell her we'll have it baked. You are a forager worth while, Gwen."
"We are to have tinkers for breakfast," said Gwen over her shoulder. "I shall bring them home with me this afternoon."
"And what are tinkers?" asked Miss Elliott.
"Small fry," replied Gwen as she closed the door.
The afternoon was bright and clear, the drifting clouds along the northern horizon showing that fair weather might be depended upon. Gwen, equipped for the occasion, stepped into the boat to take the place assigned her. Luther Williams' helper, young brown-cheeked, dark-eyed Ned Symington, took one oar, Luther the other, and before long they were outside the cove, and, as it seemed to Gwen, fearsomely near the jagged reefs. But Luther's steady eye and strong arm were to be relied upon, and when they were at anchor she had no fears beyond those which led her to dread the lopping about of the little boat while the net was hauled and emptied of its draught of fishes. Not for a moment did the girl confess her qualms, though she felt she must yield to sea-sickness any instant.
It was Ned who remarked, "She looks kinder white around the gills, Cap'n. Guess we'd better sot her ashore, hadn't we?"