The terns were come, long since. And, one morning, I was watching them, lazily, from my bank. I was alone, that morning, lying stretched out on the sand, my head against the bank; and I saw the terns, in regular procession, flying swiftly down the wind, along the shore, and beating slowly up against it. Now and then a tern would stop, and hover for an instant; then again take up his slow beating, his beak pointing to the water and moving restlessly from side to side. Or, if he dove, it was too far for me to see whether his strike succeeded; for the fish that they catch are very small and hard to see. But over my clam beds--just before me--was a favored spot. Here, each tern hovered for some while, and dove; dove once or twice or thrice, it might be,--until he had succeeded in his fishing--then began, once more, his beat to windward. For their fishing was successful, here; and, with a rapid flutter of the wings, they gobbled their victim down, whole--and, I suppose, alive. Poor little fish! Alive in a living tomb! And, as I thought these thoughts, I heard a sound behind me, on the bank. I raised my head--and there was Mrs. Goodwin. She was leaning against a tree--Eve’s tree--and she was gazing at the terns, too, but mournfully. And, with all her gazing, I doubt whether she saw aught of the sight that was before her eyes. Slowly, I got upon my feet, for I would not startle her. But she was startled none the less. She showed it in her eyes as they met mine. “Mrs. Goodwin,” I said softly, “Mrs. Goodwin”-- What more I would have said I do not know, for she broke in upon my speech. “You!” she said. “You!” And she said no more, but rose quickly; and gathered her skirts about her and fled up the path and was gone from me. I hesitated for a moment, gazing after her; then I sat me down again. And I fell to musing and I watched the terns. They had scattered, with screams of anger, as I rose, but were, by this, once more busied with their fishing. What could I do? I doubted not that I had done the wrong thing, rising up before her--but, it seemed, I had a talent for the wrong thing--else aught that I might do would seem wrong--in her eyes. Eve went to see her every day, but I--I sighed, and put the matter from me. I had done my best--and would do my best, whatever befell. And I saw the terns at their fishing, and I bethought me that I was hungry, for it must be dinner time. I glanced up at the sun--I carry no watch--what should a clammer do with a watch? And I saw that he had passed the noon-point a half-hour since, and something more. It should be nearly one o’clock. So I took my way homeward, along the shore.