Whether they were shocked or not Sears did not stop to consider. He intended to shock them to the fullest extent of the word's meaning. At his feet was a stick, almost a log, part of the limb of a pear tree. He picked up this missile and hurled it at the marauders. It missed them but it struck in the squash bed and tore at least six of the delicate young squashlings from their moorings. Kendrick plunged after it--the hens separating as he advanced and rejoining at his rear--picked up the log and, turning, again hurled it. "There!" roared the captain, "take that, damn you!" One of the hens did "take it." So did some one else. The missile struck just beneath the fowl as she fled, lifted her and a peck or two of soil as well, and hurled the whole mass almost into the face of a person who, unseen until then, had advanced along the path from the gate and had arrived at that spot at that psychological instant. This person uttered a little scream, the hen fled with insane yells, the log and its accompanying shower fell back to earth, and Sears Kendrick and the young woman--for the newcomer was a young woman--stood and looked at each other. She was bareheaded and her hair was dark and abundant, and she was wearing a gingham dress and a white apron. So much he noticed at this, their first meeting. Afterward he became aware that she was slender and that her age might perhaps be twenty-four or twenty-five. At that moment, of course, he did not notice anything except that her apron and dress--yes, even her hair and face--were plentifully besprinkled with earth and that she was holding a hand to her eyes as if they, too, might have received a share of the results of the terrestrial disturbance. "Oh!" he stammered. "I'm awfully sorry! I--I hope I didn't hurt you." If she heard him she did not answer, but, removing her hand, opened and shut her eyes rapidly. The captain's alarm grew as he watched this proceeding. "I--I _do_ hope I didn't hurt you," he repeated. "It--it didn't put your eyes out, did it?" She smiled, although rather uncertainly. "No," she said. "You're sure?" "Yes." The smile became broader. "It's not quite as bad as that, I guess. I seem to be able to see all right." He drew a relieved breath. "Well, I'm thankful for so much, then," he announced. "But it's all over your dress--and--and in your hair--and.... Oh, I _am_ sorry!" She laughed at this outburst. "It is all right," she declared. "Of course it was an accident, and I'm not hurt a bit, really." "I'm glad of that. Yes, it was an accident--your part of it, I mean. I didn't see you at all. I meant the part the hen got, though." Her laugh was over, but there was still a twinkle in her eye. Kendrick was, by this time, aware that her eyes were brown. "Yes," she observed, demurely, "I--gathered that you did."