"Yes, you passed the House o' Refuge, didn't ye, comin' up? I was watchin' ye. Well, you saw that cabin with the fence 'round it?"
"Yes; the woman told me where I'd find the cap'n. You know her, I s'pose?" asked the Swede.
"Yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. I was born there." Tod's words were addressed to the perspective of the beach and to the way the haze blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything else when walking on the beach, whether on or off duty.
"You know everybody 'round here, don't you?" remarked the Swede in a casual tone. The same quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man's eyes.
"Yes, guess so," answered Tod with another kick. Here the remains of an old straw hat shared the fate of the can.
"You ever heard tell of a woman named Lucy Cobden, lives 'round here somewheres?"
Tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run into a derelict.
"I don't know no WOMAN," he answered slowly, accentuating the last word. "I know a LADY named Miss Jane Cobden. Why?" and he scrutinized the man's face.
"One I mean's got a child—big now—must be fifteen or twenty years old—girl, ain't it?"
"No, it's a boy. He's one of the crew here; his name's Archie Cobden. Me and him's been brothers since we was babies. What do you know about him?" Tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace.