‘“She’m the fust girl in these parts. She lives with her mother to Lundy Island. She can cook, and she’m house-wise; what’s more she’m a heaven-born laundress, and she’m big and dark with red cheeks and blue eyes, and her name is Mirandy,” says Tom all in a breath. ‘Mr. Harris listens with his ’ead on one side, and a funny look comes over his face and his eyes sparkles. Tom forgets hisself and spits on the floor, but instead o’ requesting him to leave the shop Mr. Harris only says, ‘“And does the young lady ever come over here, Mr. Jenkyns?” ‘“She does not,” says Tom; “she bides to home and ’elps her mother. Capt. Dark, who goes to Lundy every week with the mails, have many a time offered her a free pass on his lugger, but she wouldn’t accept.” ‘“But—but her affections?” says Mr. Harris presently very gently; “perhaps they are engaged? Such a young lady!” ‘“She ain’t got no chap, if that’s what you mean,” says Tom; “there ain’t none to Lundy. Last time I come away I thought ’twere a pity there weren’t no young feller to arm ’er up the rocks. She were as pretty as a picture, with the waves breaking all about her feet.” ‘“Sea King’s daughter,” says Mr. Harris to hisself. But I heered ’im. ‘“She knows about you,” Tom goes on. “I tells her in general conversation what a deal people think o’ you. ‘He must be a leader o’ men,’ says she. But there is a phottygraf o’ her to home. I’ll fetch ’un,” and with that he goes out and Mr. Harris has me in the chair, and shaves me. His ’and were shaking so I were glad to escape without bloodshed. Then Tom comes back, and hands over the photty. Mr. Harris looks at it, and drops the razor. He gets pinker and pinker, and smiles and laughs and sets it on a little shelf and gazes upon it. As he doesn’t speak we goes out quietly. Then I remembers I hasn’t paid for my shave. So I goes back just in time to hear ’im say: ‘“An arrow—an arrow from the blind god’s bow at last!” ‘I says nothing, but puts down my penny and comes away on tiptoe. ‘Well, sir, that puzzles me. And I asks my darter the school-mistress what he meant. All I can say is, sir, if that little god as she telled me of did shoot one o’ his arrows at Mr. Harris, he must ha’ got him right in the wes’cot. For from that moment he were a changed man. ‘He were properly in love and no mistake! He worn’t a bit ashamed o’ it. He went about smiling and blushing, and very proud. The news soon got abroad, and the girls, some jeered, some laughed. Things moved along quickly. Letters passes between ’em. He ’ad his picture took, smiling, in a long black coat and a flower in his button-hole and a book in his ’and. He sends over bottles o’ scent and sweet soaps and such truck from his shop. Then, one beautiful morning in the beginning o’ October, he dresses hisself very smart, with a white wes’cot and shiny boots and new straw hat, and embarks on Dark’s lugger to go to Lundy to call on his young lady.