With the quick eye of the student of character, this man, proud of his own ancient lineage for all his humble beginning, noted that her hands, though brown and uncared-for, were small and dimpled, with long, delicate fingers. She had sea-blue eyes like Caleb Brent's, and, like his, they were sad and wistful; a frowsy wilderness of golden hair, very fine and held in confinement at the nape of her neck by the simple expedient of a piece of twine, showed all too plainly the lack of a mother's care. The Laird returned Nan's courtesy with a patronizing inclination of his head. "Your granddaughter, I presume?" he addressed Caleb Brent. "No; my daughter, sir. I was forty when I married, and Nan came ten years later. She's thirteen now, and her mother's been dead ten years." Hector McKaye had an idea that the departed mother was probably just as well, if not better, off, free of the battle for existence which appeared to confront this futile old man and his elf of a daughter. He glanced at the embryo shack under construction and, comparing it with his own beautiful home on Tyee Head, he turned toward the bight. A short distance off the bulkhead, he observed a staunch forty-foot motor-cruiser at anchor. She would have been the better for a coat of paint; undeniably she was of a piece with Caleb Brent and Nan, for, like them, The Laird had never seen her before. "Yours?" he queried. "Yes, sir." "You arrived in her, then?" "I did, sir. Nan and I came down from Bremerton in her, sir." The Laird owned many ships, and he noted the slurring of the "sir" as only an old sailor can slur it. And there was a naval base at Bremerton. "You're an old sailor, aren't you, Brent?" he pursued. "Yes, sir. I was retired a chief petty officer, sir. Thirty years' continuous service, sir--and I was in the mercantile marine at sixteen. I've served my time as a shipwright. Am--am I intruding here, sir?" The Laird smiled, and followed the smile with a brief chuckle. "Well--yes and no. I haven't any title to this land you've elected to occupy, although I created it. You see, I'm sort of lord of creation around here. My people call me 'The Laird of Tyee,' and nobody but a stranger would have had the courage to squat on the Sawdust Pile without consulting me. What's your idea about it, Brent?" "I'll go if you want me to, sir." "I mean what's your idea if you stay? What do you expect to do for a living?" "You will observe, sir, that I have fenced off only that portion of the dump beyond high-water mark. That takes in about half of it--about an acre and a half. Well, I thought I'd keep some chickens and raise some garden truck. This silt will grow anything. And I have my launch, and can do some towing, maybe, or take fishing parties out. I might supply the town with fish. I understand you import your fish from Seattle--and with the sea right here at your door." "I see. And you have your three-quarters pay as a retired chief petty officer?" "Yes, sir."