Gradually, slowly, the morning came. The last remnant of low-hanging mist drifted away. Before the bows of the stranded schooner appeared a flat shore with a road, still partially covered by the receding tide, along its border. Fish houses and anchored dories became visible. Behind them were hills, and over them roofs and trees and steeples.
A step sounded behind the watcher in the bows. Mrs. Bascom was at his elbow.
“Why, Seth!” she cried, “why, Seth! it's Eastboro, ain't it? We're close to Eastboro.”
Seth nodded. “It's Eastboro,” he said. “I cal'lated we must be there or thereabouts. With that no'theast breeze to help us we couldn't do much else but fetch up at the inner end of the Back Harbor.”
She laid her hand timidly on his arm.
“Seth,” she whispered, “what should we have done without you? You saved our lives.”
He swung about and faced her. “Emeline,” he said, “we've both been awful fools. I've been the biggest one, I guess. But I've learned my lesson—I've swore off—I told you I'd prove I was a man. Do you think I've been one tonight?”
“Seth!”
“Well, do you? Or,” with a gesture toward the “genius” who was beginning to take an interest in his surroundings, “do you like that kind better?”
“Seth,” reproachfully, “I never liked him better. If you had—”