Then, for the first time, the girl spoke of the stark discomfort that reigned aboard the whaler, how she longed for a little respite, and how she longed—But the landward-looking eyes could not, down here in the deep sea furrows, pick out the far-shining tents toward which the lighter was plunging, down the watery dales and up on foamy hills, and down again to shining green deeps that shut out ship and shore—holding the small boat hugged an uneasy instant in the rocking lap of the sea. Yet the girl clung to the memory of that early morning vision from the deck, of violet headlands and snow-filled hollows, and as the boat rode high again on the top of the next big breaker, she drew in rapturous breath, saying softly of the land beckoning her across the furious surf, “The ‘farthest North’ that I shall know!” But in the end she owed it to Reddy’s companionship that Cheviot let her have her way. “Oh, what an old-fashioned _Turk_ of a man I shall have to spend my life with!” But she laughed for joy at the prospect. As Cheviot, sharply scrutinizing the harborless shore, directed the boat above the settlement: “Some better landing-place round the point?” she asked. “I don’t expect a landing-place on this coast, but I don’t see even the tumble-down sod hut your father talked about.” The boat shot up out of a boiling hollow, and as it climbed the slippery back of a great wave, Hildegarde called out, “I see it!” “The hut? Where?” “All alone, over yonder. Just beyond those rocks. That’s where you and I will sit and wait, won’t we, Red? Those rocks are farther north than where the tents are shining—‘farther north,’ do you hear, Mr. Red?” Beyond the chaos of boulders, in a cloud of spray, the boat was not so much beached as daringly run in and her passengers ejected, all in that breathless instant before the turbulent water withdrew, carrying out the clumsy craft as lightly as it would a cork. And now already the toiling sailors were some yards on their way back, disappearing round the point. Hildegarde was safe on a temporary perch, and Reddy much occupied in howling defiance at each thunderous onslaught of the surf. Cheviot, thinking to combine the girl’s appeal for “a good observatory” with his own notion of an easy niche safe beyond the tide’s reach, went to spy out the land over there where some mighty storm had piled the rocks. At sight of a man skulking among the boulders, Cheviot called out, “Hello!” With a certain reluctance the bearded figure shuffled into fuller view. “Hello!” he said, without enthusiasm. “Do you belong here?” he was asked. “Sort o’.” “Oh—a—anything doing?” “Where?” “Why, here.” “_Here?_ What d’ y’ expect anybody to do _here_?” “Isn’t there a camp just over yonder?” “Up in the hills. Yep, there’s a camp there all right.” “Nothing in it, though?” “Plenty. Things are boomin’ out there. Thought you meant _here_.” And he looked past the new arrivals in an unpleasant, shifty fashion.