“I forget.”
“Will you not receive what I offered?”
“I am afraid.”
“Think of what you will have.”
“I would rather have that cumsha.”
“Think! think what you will have,” he repeated ecstatically.
“This is my sampan; I live on the river because I was born here and will die here.”
“Come with me,” he held out his hands.
“Throw that cumsha or I will go.”
As she started to swing her great oar the stranger threw a few coppers into the boat and, leaning on his umbrella, watched her cross the river, his eyes dancing as they followed her lithe body swaying in rhythmic motion to the movement of the great oar. Finally, when she was lost to sight among the other craft, he turned to the Breton, shaking his head solemnly.