The old man grinned. "No, I never heard that he did," he answered; "lobsters ain't much 'count save as they feed man, I guess," he added. The child relapsed into a sulky silence. After that she began putting back into the sea half-dead fish that she found on the shore and patiently straightening out the legs of flies discovered in webs. "It's man alone that's saved," she thought with a pang. CHAPTER V THE BARNACLE When she was ten years old Rachel left the country school, and when she was eighteen she graduated from the High School in Old Harbour. Her course of study in that institution had been protracted by reason of the frequent spells of bad weather which, for weeks together, had kept her a prisoner at the Point. These interruptions she had accepted philosophically, for she had preferred to gain knowledge in an unhampered fashion, to look about her, to ask questions, to read the books of her own choosing. She was an exceedingly headstrong creature and had anyone wished to manage her he would have experienced great difficulty. However, apparently, no one had such an unreasonable wish. Her lean little face was charming. With its broad forehead and high cheek bones it suggested a type of the Renaissance. The expression in her eyes was candid and thoughtful. Her nose was straight, her upper lip short, her mouth full and handsome in line, though, in meaning, asleep. Activity of the mind gives character to the eye, activity of the emotions individuality to the lips, and Rachel Beckett had not lived emotionally. She was still chained heavily by her youth, for youth has its shackles as well as age. It was about this time that André Garins approached her with an important proposition. He came leaping down the path from the lighthouse and found her seated in the lobsterman's door. In the kitchen Nora could be heard scolding. Occasionally the words were drowned in guttural sobs. "It's her pork pie," Rachel explained. "I got to reading and the fat just bubbled up before I knew. Now I'm going to Old Harbour to get her another," she added in a louder voice, "Want to come along?" André nodded. He had attained his full height without losing the slimness of adolescence. "There's something I want to talk to you about," he said shyly. But he did not broach the subject at once; instead he said tentatively as the two breasted the high wind which was all alive with the tang of the sea, and in which the girl's garments rattled like the rigging of a ship, "It's good of you to get her another pork pie; why do you do it?" "Because," Rachel answered with spirit, "people once in a while ought to have what they want--if it's only pork pie." André regarded her beautiful face with dull curiosity. "Then you're not doing it because you're sorry for her?" he asked. "No," she answered shortly; "principle."