So he and Bos'n walked along the grass-covered paths, between the iron-fenced “lots” of the well-to-do and the humble mounds and simple slabs where the poor were sleeping; past the sumptuous granite shaft of the Atkins lot and the tilted mossy stone which told how “Edwin Simpson, our only son,” had been “accidentally shot in the West Indies”; out through the back gate and up the hill to the pine grove overlooking the bay. Here, on a scented carpet of pine needles, they sat them down to rest and chat.
Emily, her small knees drawn up and encircled by her arms, looked out across the flats, now half covered with the rising tide. It was a mild day, more like August than October, and there was almost no wind. The sun was shining on the shallow water, and the sand beneath it showed yellow, checkered and marbled with dark green streaks and patches where the weed-bordered channels wound tortuously. On the horizon the sand hills of Wellmouth notched the blue sky. The girl drew a long breath.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Isn't this just lovely! I do like the sea an awful lot.”
“That's natural enough,” replied her companion. “There's a big streak of salt water in your blood on your ma's side. It pulls, that kind of a streak does. There's days when I feel uneasy every minute and hanker for a deck underneath me. The settin' room floor stays altogether too quiet on a day like that; I'd like to feel it heavin' over a ground swell.”
“Say, Bos'n,” he said a few minutes later; “I've been thinkin' about you. You've been to school, haven't you?”
“Course I have,” was the rather indignant answer. “I went two years in Concord. Mamma used to help me nights, too. I can read almost all the little words. Don't I help you read your paper 'most every night?”
“Sartin you do! Yes, yes! Well, our school opens to-morrer and I've been thinkin' that maybe you'd better go. There's a new teacher comin', and I hear she's pretty good.”
“Don't you KNOW? Why, Mr. Tidditt said you was the one that got her to come here!”
“Yes; well, Asaph says 'most everything but his prayers. Still, he ain't fur off this time; I cal'late I was some responsible for her bein' voted in. Yet I don't really know anything about her. You see, I—well, never mind. What do you think? Want to go?”
Bos'n looked troubled.