It was the dead of winter—the earth was frozen hard, and two feet deep with snow, crusted with ice. All the wood that was burned on the isle had to be cut and hauled from the forest behind Huttontown, and brought over to the isle in a boat. And the boy, with no implements but a hatchet, a small wheelbarrow, and a little rowboat, performed all that labor alone, until one day, when he had made very slow progress, and effected very little, he returned home, near frozen, from having been so long at work in the snow and among the ice-clad trees. Then Nettie threw herself into a violent paroxysm of excitement, and vowed that she would go with him the next day to help him gather wood in the forest. And she went. And while Hugh cut the brush and the lighter branches of the dead trees Nettie would break them up and pile them in the wheelbarrow, enlivening the earnest, thoughtful boy all the time with her wild and joyous talk. It was late in the afternoon of a stormy day near the end of December, that the two children, Hugh Hutton and Garnet Seabright, might have been seen wandering on the cold, bare, snow-clad northwest beach of Hutton’s Isle. Hugh was at this time a fine, handsome, athletic boy of twelve and a half years of age; tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong limbed, with the high Roman features, dark complexion, and commanding countenance of all his race; a noble boy, undisguised even by the old, worn, faded, and patched suit of homespun cloth in which he was clad. Bitterly cold as it was, his head and feet were bare—bare, because though Miss Joe might shear the sheep, and card and spin the wool, and knit him socks enough, yet shoes and hats cost a great deal more money than Miss Joe or Hugh could often get together, and so shoes and hats were luxuries and elegancies, only to be indulged in on Sundays and high holidays. Garnet Seabright was now about ten years of age; a beautiful, brilliant, sun-burned, or rather sun-gilded brunette, whom the sea air and sun rays had made as hard, bright, dark, and resplendent as the burning, crimson, sea-coast gem whose name she bore. Child of Apollo and Amphytrite she was. Her eyes were large, dark, and burning bright; her rich and glossy hair seemed jet black in the shade, but emitted gleams of red light wherever the sun shone upon it; her complexion was rich and glowing; she wore a dress of scarlet country cloth, with coarse shoes and stockings, and a coarse straw hat—and, altogether, her bright presence warmed and illumined the cold, bleak desolation of the sea-coast, like some cheerful fire. She followed close behind Hugh, stopping whenever he stopped, and digging with a little stick wherever the little round holes in the sand indicated the presence of the maninosies, left by the subsiding wind and ebbing tide upon the beach. Very necessary was it that they should fill their basket, for very little else had they at home for supper.