A young man was standing by the skids, watching the fishing boats through a spyglass. He was tall, with a straight, muscular figure clad in a rough fishing suit. His face was deeply browned by the gulf breezes and was attractive rather than handsome, while his eyes, as blue and clear as the gulf waters, were peculiarly honest and frank. Two wiry, dark-faced French-Canadian boys were perched on one of the boats, watching the fishing fleet with lazy interest in their inky-black eyes, and wondering if the "Yanks" had seined many mackerel that day. Presently three people came down the steep path from the fish-houses. One of them, a girl, ran lightly forward and touched Benjamin Selby's arm. He lowered his glass with a start and looked around. A flash of undisguised delight transfigured his face. "Why, Mary Stella! I didn't expect you'd be down this hot day. You haven't been much at the shore lately," he added reproachfully. "I really haven't had time, Benjamin," she answered carelessly, as she took the glass from his hand and tried to focus it on the fishing fleet. Benjamin steadied it for her; the flush of pleasure was still glowing on his bronzed cheek, "Are the mackerel biting now?" "Not just now. Who is that stranger with your father, Mary Stella?" "That is a cousin of ours--a Mr. Braithwaite. Are you very busy, Benjamin?" "Not busy at all--idle as you see me. Why?" "Will you take me out for a little row in the dory? I haven't been out for so long." "Of course. Come--here's the dory--your namesake, you know. I had her fresh painted last week. She's as clean as an eggshell." The girl stepped daintily off the rocks into the little cream-coloured skiff, and Benjamin untied the rope and pushed off. "Where would you like to go, Mary Stella?" "Oh, just upshore a little way--not far. And don't go out into very deep water, please, it makes me feel frightened and dizzy." Benjamin smiled and promised. He was rowing along with the easy grace of one used to the oar. He had been born and brought up in sound of the gulf's waves; its never-ceasing murmur had been his first lullaby. He knew it and loved it in every mood, in every varying tint and smile, in every change of wind and tide. There was no better skipper alongshore than Benjamin Selby. Mary Stella waved her hand gaily to the two men on the rocks. Benjamin looked back darkly. "Who is that young fellow?" he asked again. "Where does he belong?" "He is the son of Father's sister--his favourite sister, although he has never seen her since she married an American years ago and went to live in the States. She made Frank come down here this summer and hunt us up. He is splendid, I think. He is a New York lawyer and very clever."