After that, for a long time the bay belonged to the rushes, the ripples and the dragon flies alone.
Rising at last, Tillie seized the anchor line, drew the rowboat close in, climbed aboard, motioned to Florence to do the same, seized the oars and began to row.
They fished no more that day. Not a word was spoken until the boat bumped at Tillie’s dock.
Then Tillie, dangling the fine black bass from the end of a string, said,
“Here! You take it. I couldn’t eat a bite of it. It’d choke me.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s all right. You’re a brick.”
“So are you.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”