He fumbled in his breast-pocket and brought out a worn leather card-case. He opened it and produced an envelop. From the envelop he took a small, unmounted photograph and handed it to the girl. She studied it in silence and a smile broke over her face. “Isn’t it funny of Agnes?” she asked. “She doesn’t seem to have any nose.” “That’s so,” he said. “Do you make out Ann, next to George in the stern sheets?” They leaned on the rail and bent over the faded print till their heads almost touched. “That’s Bess next to me in the sweater,” she went on, “and there’s Winkle.” “Do you remember,” he said, “the boom knocked him overboard just before and he would shake himself on your skirt?” “Dear little dog!” she murmured. “I don’t think my head came out very well,” she observed, after a pause. “Something must have been the matter with the film or the paper. There’s a smudged spot all over it.” “The climate is very damp in the Islands,” he said. “Give it back to me.” Their eyes met as she handed the picture back and she dropped hers. Caswell saw the color stealing into the side of her face again. She moved a step away and gazed down into the water. “That big carp is getting all the crumbs,” she said. He handed her another wafer and replaced the picture in his pocket. There was a long silence. The girl spoke first. “But what did they give you the Medal of Honor for?” she said, slowly dropping crumbs to the fish. “That is a question that has puzzled me before,” he answered. “But you must have done something,” she said. “Well, there wasn’t anything to eat or drink in the church,” he began, “nor anything in the neighborhood as far as we knew, except cocoanuts, and I was afraid to go out to get them--” He stopped, for her aunt’s voice was calling again from above. They looked up and saw her on the balcony of the third story. “Mr. Williams,” she said, “you _must_ come up and see the gold room.” “Please, no,” he answered; “I’ve put on my shoes.” “Yes, you must,” she insisted. “I sha’n’t come down until you do.” “You had better go,” said the girl. “She means what she says.” “I’ll be up at once,” he called. He took off his shoes and went in. The girl finished crumbling the wafer to the carp, and watched them for a time as their grotesque mouths mechanically opened and shut upon the sinking flakes. Then she turned her eyes across the lake and embraced the prospect which Caswell had been absorbing when interrupted by her coming. Presently an idea moved her, and from a little bag she produced a gold pencil and a bit of paper and found a smooth place upon the rail. She wrote a few words, took a pin from her dress and fastened the paper to a post as if for a sign to persons coming out of the temple. She glanced quickly up, and seeing no one, slipped away around the end of the balcony.