And my breakfast was no better. My fresh-gathered eggs were bitter in my mouth, and they tasted of sulphur; and my coffee was gray that should have been a rich red-brown like the copper beech; and my rolls were lead or cotton, I knew not which. I lighted my pipe and went out. The hot sun was burning off the fog. I stood at the foot of my garden, where I have a seat against the trunk of an old pine, and I watched the fog writhing and twisting in the anguish of defeat and dissolution, vanishing into the hot air above in little jets and shreds, rolling away over the water to the ocean, a far gray bank. And the waters of the bay danced in the sun, and dazzled my eyes. So, for some while I paced there, back and forth. Then I heaved a sigh and sat me upon my seat, and the great pine whispered softly above me; but I fidgeted upon the seat and found no peace. So, all day, I wandered the shores, and I dug no clams, but found myself picking shells and pebbles of bright colors. And in the early afternoon I stood by our clam beds--Eve’s and mine--and looked up through all the greenery toward the great house, and saw the gleam of dresses. And I left my basket by the bank and turned and ran,--like the fool I was. Why did I run? For as the sun was low, and my pulse high, I wandered once more over to that place. And as I came near, behold there on the bank sat Eve. And at the sight, that ganglion which serves me for a heart began its rioting so that I nearly choked. But I came nearer yet, and sat me down beside her, and she smiled at me. And then I found that peace I had sought all day. “Fisherman,” she said, “you are not early to-night.” “I am not,” I said, “and yet I am. For I have haunted this place all day, and yet I feared to come too soon.” She did not ask me why, but pointed to my basket. “Are these your gatherings?” I nodded. “Why, Adam? They are not clams--nor fish.” “I do not know, Eve. I have done strange things to-day.” “Are they for me?” “What shall a governess do with pebbles?” “They might be useful in my teaching, Adam. Are they for me?” “If you will. Anything I have is yours”-- “Fisherman, remember”-- “Eve, Eve, how shall I remember, with you sitting beside me, and your eyes smiling, and that light upon your hair?” “Then I will not smile nor sit beside you. And so I must go”-- “No, no,” I cried. “Stay, for the pity of man. I will remember,--or I will try. I cannot promise more. A fisherman and a governess! So I may not give you the pebbles, Eve, but I will bargain with you.” “For what?” “For that rose you wear.” For she wore a great red rose upon her bosom. She considered. “It is a fair bargain,” she said at last, “and I agree. A rose for your pebbles.”