She rejoiced at that. “With all my heart, Adam.”
So it befell that we wended, that afternoon, over to our clam beds, along the shore where the water lapped ever. And, as it chanced, the tide was low and would yet be lower; for it was a spring tide. And we walked hand in hand—for there was nobody about—and what if there were? Shall a man not hold his wife’s hand, in going along the shore? And shall he not kiss her if he will—and if she will? Though in such matters we should, no doubt, bow to convention. And, as we went, the Great Painter spread his colors as he was wont to do, and the still waters were covered with all manner of reds and purples. We saw our flats just awash and now and then there broke upon them a wave that ran across in ripples of color, and left the wet sand shining in a coat of shimmering green. For, though the water was calm, the waves yet broke upon the sands. It was a day of promise now well nigh come to an end but yet it held a promise of other days. And such a day maketh the soul of a man to rejoice—if he be in truth a man, and not a mere beast of burden—it maketh the soul of him to rejoice within him and his heart to sing; and of such as rejoice not in such a day, there is little hope.
And Eve and I came to the bank, where the pebbles shone in the sun—save some few that had been washed out in the storms of winter. Eve cried out at that, and set herself to find others, that she make the names whole again. And I looked up at our path, that still showed bravely—with little piles of snow in the deeply shaded spots, the remnants of great drifts—but they were going fast. And the grass showed green on the slope—the tender green of spring. Seeing all this, I sighed and turned me from it to our clam beds.
They were well uncovered by this, and I took my hoe and pottered about and slopped here and there, digging where I would. And now and again I made me straight—for some months past I had not bent my back so steadily—and gazed at the changing colors or at the old sun, which was drawing near to the western hills; then I bent my back again. And the clams that I found I did but restore with care, to bury themselves once more—we had no basket, not wanting clams as yet—and I found many. They seemed good thriving clams, big and lusty, and none the worse for the winter.
At last I was done with my digging and I straightened up and looked for Eve; and there she was, beyond me, in the water, with her skirts tucked up, and she was paddling like any schoolgirl. And the sun shone through the wisps of hair—they straggled, ever, those wisps, and sadly bothered her with their wanderings—the sun shone through the wandering locks and made an aureole about her head. But now she minded them not. And so I gazed long at her, and I saw the colors that she stirred with her paddling, and I saw her standing in their midst. At last she looked up at me.
“Oh, Adam,” she cried, “I am having such a beautiful time. Stop your digging and come out here with me—and paddle. It is great fun. See, I can almost catch that streak of gold! Oh, now it is gone.”
“Truly, Eve,” I said, “I am amazed at you. But I will come—and paddle—although that is what I never thought that I should come to; for I am done with my digging. And soon we must go in, for the sun is almost set. It is not yet summer.”
Then Eve laughed, and I went and stood beside her, and we paddled nobly—until I was laughing, too. And the sun set—he had already passed the tree that was like a spire—I saw it for a moment against his southern edge as he coasted down the slope—and we bade him good-night together, as we had been wont to do. Eve turned to me.
“I am cold, Adam,” she said. “I confess it.”
Indeed, that water was passing cold, for there were in it all the melting snows of winter. And so we raced along the shore in our rubber boots—Eve’s are less of a burden than mine, so that I was beaten in the race—and climbed the steep path; and in the house our fire burned upon the hearth.