To the south all was beach and dunes and sky; the gulls winged above the water; fish-hawks flopped drearily up and down the line of surf; sandpipers followed one receding wave in search of beach insects, to scamper alertly back before the rolling advance of the next. The air was bracing; the smell of the sea was grateful. As the charm of the place settled upon him, Anthony would stand at midday upon elevations, with the free wind blowing about him, the sun warm upon his body, and feel the life mounting in him. Days and then weeks went by; he took fish out of the bay for food; he brought turtles from the high bar; he cut green, edible plants for his table; now and then he had a duck, though they were none too plump at that season; at rare times he had a rabbit for the pot with a dried leek from the cluster hanging to a hook in the rafters. The sun burned him brown; the rowing, hauling, and tramping toughened his thews and gave stiffness to his bones. His eyes grew bright and ready; and, as those grinding, punishing last days at Rufus Stevens' Sons became fainter in his memory, the old tilt came back to his chin and the steadfast quality returned once more to his gaze. He'd plunge into the surf of a morning; tingling with the water, air, and sun, he'd cut wood for his fire, and cook his porridge, and bake his corn-bread upon the coals. Then he'd sit by the open window, eating, and sipping his wine and water, and he said to himself that he had begun no days like them since those he'd spent breasting the wilderness, or stepping the deck of a Spanish ship, voyaging among the southern seas. After breakfast he'd scour the beach to see what the tide had brought in; planks, cordage, spars, broken ship's furniture, all added to his ease of life; and tinkering it into useful things passed many of his hours with profit. In mid-morning he'd hoist the sail of his boat and point away to his fishing-places; in the afternoon he'd lie on the top of a dune in the still of the sun; the sea washed in monotonously, a fishing bird complained in his passage, the wind rustled in the thickets on the meadow edge; but the sense of isolation would be on him completely; his eye and body were keen and eager, but his mind drowsed, resting after its wearing fight.