The physician was immensely elated that his narrative was so well received by the girl. With a new feeling of safety and contentment he headed the launch toward the light that seemed nearest the shore. It was not long until they reached the roughly constructed pier. Upon the extreme end of it sat a solitary man fishing with fire and net.
As they approached the shore, Garnet was able to make out the shadowy outlines that bulked in the distance as a half-dozen small houses. Beside each a smudge sent forth clouds of heavy smoke. He was heartened by the scene, for he knew well the hospitality of the southern home, and he was confident that within the walls of one of these humble cottages would be found food and rest for himself and the girl in his charge. Yet even in this moment, the physician wondered if indeed there would ever be real rest for him while he should remember the staring, accusing eyes that looked up at him from the water's depth.
Garnet brought the tender alongside the wharf in shore, at a sufficient distance from the man to avoid disturbing the fishing. Then he climbed out upon the frail, wooden structure built upon poles driven into the bottom, and made his way over its swaying surface to the native by the fire. This proved to be "Squire" Goodwin, the big man of the settlement. He was of an appearance above the average, and handsome still in spite of fifty-odd years of toil and exposure. He rose at Garnet's approach, and, without waiting to be addressed, spoke with an air of genial familiarity.
"I don't usually go a-firin' for trout this late o' night, but the truth is that between the hell-fired skeeters and the gals havin' beaux there wasn't much for me to enjoy at home. My name's Goodwin," he added by way of introduction. "They call me Squire all around these parts. I'm the justice o' the peace. So be you're after a warrant?"
The last word affected Garnet very unpleasantly, and he shook his head with such grim emphasis that the Squire perceived he had been mistaken as to the stranger's purpose.
"No?" he remarked. "Well, then, maybe it's fair for me to make another guess." A twinkle shone now in his clear eyes. "Judging from the face that the moon just lighted up there in the bow of your snapper, I don't believe I'd be far wrong in judging ye two to be worldly folks that think a squire's good as a parson. What mout you're name be, stranger?"
At this blunt demand, Garnet again showed traces of embarrassment, but these endured only for an instant. He realized that in this place so remote from the ordinary lanes of travel there could be little danger in divulging his identity. So he spoke with brisk confidence.
"My name, sir, is Gifford Garnet, I am a physician. The young lady lying in the launch yonder is my patient. We were so unfortunate as to be wrecked while on a yacht cruising in the waters to the south of here. We are now on our way northward, bound for one of the larger towns, where we shall be able to get transportation home. The young lady is suffering from an injured ankle, and, too, she has been for some time unconscious from a blow on the head received while we were escaping from the yacht. It is only within the last hour that she has seemed to be again quite normal. We were obliged to lay to in the lower section of the Sound for several hours, waiting for the weather to moderate. Otherwise we would not have been obliged to put in here and beg you for food and lodging. If you can take care of us over night I shall be only too glad to pay you for your hospitality."
"Pay me for my hospitality!" the Squire exclaimed indignantly. "That's something in my locality that's never been for sale, and can't be bought. You-all must be from the North. I've heard folks from the outside say that folks up there pay for everything, even for a place to hang their hats in public houses. Folks that pay for everything they get lose all love for each other." His tone changed abruptly, and he spoke authoritatively. "Get that young woman out o' the boat and after I make another dip, I'll take ye up and show ye one shack where hospitality ain't for sale. And when you go please remember that you don't leave under any obligation to Squire Goodwin. I will say though, if ye ever catch me in you-all's fix, and ye he'p me out, then I won't offer to pay you for your hospitality. I just don't believe in it!"
The Squire skipped back to his firelight, and the Doctor watched him toss four flopping, wriggling beauties upon the wharf. As the fish fell from the net, the Squire shouted triumphantly: