Without further word, the boy and girl climbed aboard.
By great good fortune Ruth was at the dock when they came in. To her was entrusted the task of conducting the boy and girl to warm quarters where they might find a change of clothing.
In Ruth’s cottage the boy and girl sat beside the fisher girl in silence, dreamily watching the fire.
“Do you mean to say,” said Ruth, breaking the silence, “that your sister’s very narrow escape from drowning made no impression upon you, that you are as willing as ever to gamble with your life?”
“She didn’t drown, did she?” the boy looked at her and laughed. “She had luck. Her time hadn’t come, that’s all. No use making a fuss about that.”
“Life,” Ruth said quietly, “is a precious possession. No one has a right to think of it lightly.”
“Life,” said the boy with a toss of the head, “is a joke. We’re here because we’re here and because we are to have a good time. What’s the use of making a fuss?”
Ruth looked at him but said no more.
In her own room an hour later she sat looking off at the bay. Her thoughts were sadly mixed. She felt that the plan of life that had always been hers was slipping.
“Much work, friends, a home and a little pleasure now and then, holidays, and—and—