"We are new in this business. Heretofore our family has been in the fishing industry. And latterly, truck farming also. We still ship some vegetables to New York by boat, and sometimes by express. But we are practically out of that business now." "I suppose you run over to New York once in a while," he smiled. "No, the farthest trip we've made was to Riverhead, and it's beautiful! Such a pretty park--and a tremendous court house! But we've never been off of the Island, none of us--except mother, who was born in Connecticut." Parkins, a man of quick discernment, caught a sad expression in the eyes of the girl behind the counter of "The Goody Shop," so named on a neat little sign hinged to the eaves of the sheltering overhang. "I suppose your mother stays at home and takes care of the family?" he suggested, enquiringly. "Mother is dead," replied the girl, calmly, a far-away expression in her eyes, as she glanced at the sky. "She died when I was a baby." Now was Parkins' chance to impress the girl with his "sympathetic" nature. He sighed deeply, and for several moments looked at the ground and said nothing. When, finally, he did speak there was pathos in his voice. "My mother died when I was a child in arms. I have no memory of her whatever, but her photograph seems to speak to me at times," said he, dreamily. "I talk to my mother every night," replied Winifred, happily. "She sends messages through me to my father, and tells me what to do for him. He isn't very strong, but that comes from grief over her death. Now he is much better. It was such a long time before she could reach us," she confided, artlessly. And so began the acquaintance of a man of the world and a country lass, the man halting between two emotions. In determining the course of his further acquaintance with the sweet little maid the best bargain he could make with himself was--"I'll think it over." So, with perfect decorum, and bowing and scraping he bade the young woman good-by, adding the hope that all was square between them--since his apology. He reached out his hand as a final test of his theory that he "had won out with her," and was delighted when she accepted his overture politely. He bowed most courteously as he sprang into his wonderful new roadster and plunged forward along the asphalt road. For miles Winifred could hear the roar of its exploding cylinders, as, with mufflers "cut out," the car raced along to his fishing hut on the ocean side of the bay. "I'll be back to-morrow," he had said on leaving, but she only smiled in reply, for "to-morrow" would be Sunday, and her duties were elsewhere--at church and Sunday school--where she taught a class--and then home to a noon dinner with her father. As time went on Parkins' week-end excursions increased, and various were the cars he used. A big black mahogany limousine and a two-seated roadster, with rakish hood and brass trimmings that glistened like gold, were his favorites.