“So an honest fisherman, well-to-do, has an even chance with a rich rascal whom you do not love. That is a high price on honesty, Eve.” “Yes,” she said, “but not too high. And now, Adam, be my good friend still.” “I will,” I replied, “if I may not be more.” So she was silent, and so was I. And presently I reached down to my basket and drew forth a package wrapped in a napkin. “Governess,” I asked, “are you, by chance, hungry?” “Fisherman,” she answered, “I am famished; but not by chance. Open, quickly.” So I unwrapped the package, and in it were slices of white bread, cut thin, and between, lettuce picked that morning, crisp and cool. And we ate together, and Eve grew merry, and my content came back to me. “Fisherman,” she said at last, “I thank you. Now I must go.” “Thank me for what, Eve?” “It was the sandwiches I meant,” she said. “And how long must you consider? When shall I have my answer?” “Your answer? Oh, when I come to your clambake.” “It shall be to-morrow,” I said. “Oh, not so soon,” she cried. “The day after, then.” She hesitated. “Well,” she said, “good-by.” “I shall come here for you, Eve.” But she was gone, and I went, too, my brain in turmoil. * * * * * Down under my great pine is a pleasant place for a man--or for a governess, I should suppose--with a heart at ease. And for a fisherman whose heart is not at ease it serves as well as any place but one, and that one not fixed, but moving as she moves. And for a certain rich man it might, indeed, be pleasant under my pine, but not if I could make it otherwise. And there was the seat against the tree, and from that seat he might see my favorite clam beds. But what would rich men care for clam beds? And, for the seat, why, I had other views. It was there, just without the shadow of the pine, that the hole was scooped in the ground and lined with great stones. And on these stones I kindled a fire that roared high; and when it had burned long and the stones were hot, I raked the ashes off. Then I shook down upon the stones fresh seaweed from the pile, and on the seaweed laid the clams that I had digged, myself--and alone--that morning. Then, more seaweed; and the other things, in layers, orderly, with the clean, salt-smelling weed between: the lobsters, green and crawling, and the fish, fresh caught, and the chicken, not too fresh, and the sweet and tender corn, and sweet potatoes. And over all I piled the weed and made a dome that smoked and steamed and filled the air with incense.