"Do ye realize, Sarah Porter, that this is the very fust time in over twenty year that I've come to your house except on business, without some fishes, terrapin, scallops, or sich to sell fer the hotel?"
Miss Porter blushed like a girl.
"Well, seein' as how you mention it, I reckon it's a fact." Her manner did not betray how often she had wondered, and perhaps grieved, over that fact during the score of years.
Then, Ichabod at last took heart of courage, and spoke boldly:
"This time, Sarah, arter due deliberation, an' study, Ichabod has come to ye to give something away. Tain't nothin' that comes out o' these waters or sands or marshes. Tain't gold, nor yit silver, but somethin' that nobody in all these years could 'a' bought, had they tried. Could ye guess what it mout be, Sarah?"
There came a certain dreaminess into the woman's eyes, which, if a little dimmed, had by no means lost their luster.
"I never was good at guessing, Ichabod," she said simply. "I cal'late you'll jest have to tell me. I know from the way you speak that it must be something perfectly splendid."
"Wall, now, you may think it more wuthless than plain seaweed, an' if ye do, why ye must speak right out, Sarah. What I have come to offer ye is Ichabod Jones' love!"
Ichabod waited through a full minute for the answer that failed to come. The woman's eyes were gazing out over the broad expanse of the Atlantic, which opened so gloriously before them. He took one of her hands in his, and pressed it gently as he went on speaking.
"It's true that I'm some old, but I ain't crippled. An' arter all these years o'—yes, oh, hell!—I want to be loved ag'in. Sarah, I'll tell ye, an' it's God's truth, I never did love that triflin' woman. I have come to that idea arter a long time o' thinkin'. I was young, an' I thought I loved her, but, Sarah, I just had my haid turned. Time is now tellin' my true feelin's."