Then she sat behind the tree and changed the boots, and we hung them in the tree against another time. And then we sat upon the bank, for the colors had not faded. And Eve sat silent, gazing at the water and the western sky; and I sat silent and gazed up at her.
“Eve,” said I.
She turned and looked at me, but did not speak.
“I think many things,” I said, “and some of them I would say.”
“No,” she answered, “do not say them. Watch the sky and the water while the colors last. See, it is almost dark.”
“The water and the sky are from everlasting to everlasting, Eve, so far as I am concerned. But you—no, I must make the most of what I have.”
“Fisherman,” she said, “you must not speak so to me.”
“And why not, governess? Does it displease you? May a fisherman not say his say to a governess? If I were a—what must I be, to rank with a governess? Would my speech offend you then?”
“Adam,” she answered, “I came here to dig for clams.”
“Truly,” said I, “we did, and to see the sun go down.”