Her sweet smile did not waver. The gray eyes stared straight into his.
“I have talked to 'em till my mouth has been parched and my tongue sore, and God knows my heart is sore. All they do is look at me and shake their heads. I thought I had friends alongshore—men who believed in me—men who would take my word and help me. I'll never be fooled again by the fellows who pat you on the back in sunny weather, and won't lend you an umbrella when it rains unless you'll leave your watch with 'em for security. And speaking of the watch,” he went on, smiling wistfully, for her mere presence and her unspoken sympathy had begun to cheer him, “reminds me why I'm here in Maquoit. Oh yes,” he put in, hastily, catching a queer look of disappointment on her face, “I did want to see you. I looked forward to seeing you after all the others had turned their backs on me. There's something wonderfully comforting in your face, Polly, when you just look at me. You don't have to say a word.”
“I do thank you, Boyd.”
“I hear that Rowley is getting uneasy about his schooner—wants to take it away from us. So I have sold my watch and all the other bits of personal things I could turn into cash, and am here to give him the money and tell him we're going back to fishing again.”
“You'll give up the steamer?”
“Yes—and hopes and prospects and all. I've got to.”
“But if you could win!”
“I'll stay down where I belong. I won't dream any more.”
“Don't give up.”
“There's nothing else to do. We poor devils need something besides our bare hands.”