“The day after, then.”
She hesitated. “Well,” she said, “good-by.”
“I shall come here for you, Eve.”
But she was gone, and I went, too, my brain in turmoil.
Down under my great pine is a pleasant place for a man—or for a governess, I should suppose—with a heart at ease. And for a fisherman whose heart is not at ease it serves as well as any place but one, and that one not fixed, but moving as she moves. And for a certain rich man it might, indeed, be pleasant under my pine, but not if I could make it otherwise. And there was the seat against the tree, and from that seat he might see my favorite clam beds. But what would rich men care for clam beds? And, for the seat, why, I had other views.
It was there, just without the shadow of the pine, that the hole was scooped in the ground and lined with great stones. And on these stones I kindled a fire that roared high; and when it had burned long and the stones were hot, I raked the ashes off. Then I shook down upon the stones fresh seaweed from the pile, and on the seaweed laid the clams that I had digged, myself—and alone—that morning. Then, more seaweed; and the other things, in layers, orderly, with the clean, salt-smelling weed between: the lobsters, green and crawling, and the fish, fresh caught, and the chicken, not too fresh, and the sweet and tender corn, and sweet potatoes. And over all I piled the weed and made a dome that smoked and steamed and filled the air with incense.
Then, my work done, I sat there and looked out. And when it was time I garbed myself and set forth. And my heart-beat was too high, by far, and there was a faintness at my throat. But I strode along the shore and came to our bank, where the colored pebbles shone in the sun, ADAM and EVE. And there I sat, just where the sod breaks off to the sand, and waited. And presently there was the light step I knew so well, and up came my heart into my throat and choked me. But I stood, as a fisherman should before a governess, and turned.
And such a governess! All in light, filmy white, with two red roses at her bosom, and her hair a glory. And her eyes,—there are no other such eyes as hers,—her eyes smiled at me, and then they opened wide in wonder.
“Adam,” she said, “is it you? Are you my fisherman?”