At the last moment, the freshening wind suggested the probable need of ample protection from the weather. Accordingly, he carried a double armful of steamer-rugs and rain-coats from the house to the _Wisp_. In five minutes he was standing for Piney Cove. It took him half an hour or more to reach it, for the wind, blowing steadily from the northwest, held him back. He was rewarded by finding Betty and Aunty Landis awaiting him on the beach. "Good-morning, Mrs. Landis. Hail, Dryad of the Pines!" "Hail, Old Man of the Sea!" Her eyes were as clear as twin pools; her lips were smiling, ready as always to laugh with him or at him, as opportunity might offer. She held her head with that defiant tilt of the chin that was to him one of her always-remembered characteristics. The sunlight flashed from the bay to the shining braid of her hair. Her white sailor suit was set off by two daring bands of color--a scarlet handkerchief at her throat, and a scarlet sash about her waist. That most effective head-dress, a man-o'-war's-man's white hat, crowned her head. Fessenden's eyes dwelt upon her with such frank delight that she blushed a little as Mrs. Landis followed her on board the _Wisp_. The course was set southeast for Rincoteague Island. After a dubious phrase or two about the weather, Aunty Landis ensconced herself just within the opened doors of the little cabin. Here she produced an infinite number of gigantic stockings (male) from a work-bag, and proceeded to darn them. "I hope both you and your aunt are good sailors," said Fessenden. "It promises to be a bit rough before we get back." "Oh, yes. I hope it does blow. To be wet and cold, and to see the water boiling up ready to drown us--that would be living!" "You strange child! You have a philosophy all your own. Did you know that?" She nodded sagely. "Of course. I hate people who haven't. That's one reason I like you." "Thank you. I'm glad to hear you confess that there's more reasons than one. I like _you_ because--because you seem to me to be all golden. Perhaps the sun dazzles me." "Perhaps," she smiled. "You and the day are golden, but remember the song in Cymbeline: "Golden lads and girls all must As chimney sweepers come to dust." "Golden lads and girls," she repeated softly. "Oh, they can never come to dust while there are days like this to sail and sail!" Her arms, extended yearningly, as if she would have plucked the secret of youth from the tossing bay, fell to her side. "I wish we could sail forever--never to go back to the sad land." He thrilled. "So do I. Let's do it--you and I together." "And Aunty Landis?" "I'm not so sure about Aunty Landis. The stockings might give out, you know." They had left Piney Cove not long after nine. With the strong northwester behind them, they made such progress that before two o'clock they were in sight of their destination.