"I used to enjoy it when I was a boy off on holidays in summer," returned Luther Williams, breaking off the shell from the lobster he held.
"But you must have preferred it to any other occupation in life, to have given up everything to come here, a man of your intelligence, Mr. Williams."
Gwen looked with surprise at her aunt. What did she mean by pressing home a subject upon which they had agreed to be silent?
"Did you never hear of a man's letting himself drift, Miss Elliott?" said Mr. Williams calmly. "Sometimes it is a relief to go with the tide. If you had been battling with a single oar against wind and waves, for days, and at last had stepped into a quiet harbor, you might be satisfied to stay there and—just fish."
"Good!" said Gwen to herself. "I'm glad he made that answer. What is the matter with Aunt Cam that she is suddenly so inquisitive? It isn't like her. Coffee, please," she said to change the subject. "It must be ready by this time. Four cups? What a fine picnic this is! Aunt Cam and I only take one and drink out of it by turns. This is certainly a very high-toned feast." She rattled on, casting furtive glances once in a while at her aunt and Luther Williams. The former sat, with lips compressed, stirring her coffee; the latter's face wore its most serious look. "Haven't you all had enough?" suddenly exclaimed the girl. "I want Mr. Williams to take me to the top of this hill to see what's on the other side. Mr. Hilary, you can entertain Aunt Cam. She doesn't look as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself. I have devoured all of these good things that I can, but I shall want some candies when we come back, so please don't eat them all. Come, Mr. Williams." She bore him forcibly away, hanging on his arm, and making nonsensical speeches till she had brought back the smile to his face.
At the top of the hill they emerged from the grove of slim birches to come out upon an open field. The sky overhead was dappled with pink, while gold, purple and crimson colored the west. The sunset flecked the waters of the bay with wonderful tints, and, where the tide had receded leaving the flats shining wet, the colors were reflected in burnished streaks. The further islands were misty green, the nearer ones radiant in the glory of the departing light. "How beautiful!" cried Gwen. "I have always thought nothing could exceed the effect of certain sunsets over the cove, but this is beyond words. I don't know," she added after a moment, "but that I give the palm to our island as a steady thing, though I do hope I can come here often."
"This is a rare effect," Mr. Williams told her. "You see we can't always have such a sunset, and it isn't always low tide at just this hour. The combination is for your express benefit. I'll show you something else if you will come here." He took her by the arm and led her a little away to where, through the trees, the glory of a rising moon met their sight sending long silver beams across the water beyond.
"That too!" exclaimed Gwen. "It's almost too much, isn't it?"
"Nature never gives too much," returned her companion. "She is very chary at times, and again, as this evening, she overpowers us with her generosity, but it is only on occasions that she is so lavish. She knows how to withhold as well as how to be prodigal."
Gwen turned with shining eyes. "If I had a father, Mr. Williams," she said, "I'd like him to be just like you."