They leaned on the rail and bent over the faded print till their heads almost touched.
“That’s Bess next to me in the sweater,” she went on, “and there’s Winkle.”
“Do you remember,” he said, “the boom knocked him overboard just before and he would shake himself on your skirt?”
“Dear little dog!” she murmured. “I don’t think my head came out very well,” she observed, after a pause. “Something must have been the matter with the film or the paper. There’s a smudged spot all over it.”
“The climate is very damp in the Islands,” he said. “Give it back to me.”
Their eyes met as she handed the picture back and she dropped hers. Caswell saw the color stealing into the side of her face again.
She moved a step away and gazed down into the water. “That big carp is getting all the crumbs,” she said.
He handed her another wafer and replaced the picture in his pocket.
There was a long silence. The girl spoke first.
“But what did they give you the Medal of Honor for?” she said, slowly dropping crumbs to the fish.