"There is something singularly fascinating in the stretch of a salt marsh," he said. "Its level has such a far sweep as you stand and gaze across it, and you have a dreamy feeling that there is no end to it. The stiff drenched grasses hold the salt which the tide brings in twice a day, and you inhale that fresh, strong, briny odor, the rank, salt, invigorating smell of the sea; the breeze that blows across has a tang to it like the snap of a whip lash across your face, bringing the blood to the surface, and rousing you to a quicker pace." "Ha!" said Carrington; "there it is. Don't you see the green? A little further on, you will see the mast of the boat." "That is all that is wanted," said Keith. "A salt marsh is not complete without a boat tilted up aground somewhere, with its slender dark mast outlined against the sky. A boat sailing along in a commonplace way would blight the whole thing; what we want is an abandoned craft, aged and deserted, aground down the marsh with only its mast rising above the green." "_Bien!_ there it is," said Carrington; "and now the question is, how to get to it." "You two giants will have to go alone," said Keith, finding a comfortable seat. "I see a mile or two of tall wading before us, and up to your shoulders is over my head. I went duck-shooting with that man last year, señora. 'Come on,' he cried--'splendid sport ahead, old fellow; come on.' "'Is it deep?' I asked from behind. I was already up to my knees, and could not see bottom, the water was so dark. "'Oh no, not at all; just right,' he answered, striding ahead. 'Come on.' "I came; and went in up to my eyes." But the señora did not smile. "You know Carrington is taller than I am," explained Keith, amused by the novelty of seeing his own stories fall flat in dead failure. "Is he?" said the Sister vaguely. It was evident that she had not observed whether he was or not. Carrington stopped short, and for an instant stared blankly at her. What every one noticed and admired all over the country wherever he went, this little silent creature had not even seen! "He will never forgive you," said Keith laughing, as the two tall forms strode off into the marsh. Then, seeing that she did not comprehend in the least, he made a seat for her by spreading his light coat on the Appalachian chain, and leaning back on his elbow, began talking to her about the marsh. "Breathe in the strong salt," he said, "and let your eyes rest on the green, reedy waste. Supposing you were painting a picture, now--does any one paint pictures at your convent?" "Ah, yes," said the little nun, rousing to animation at once. "Sister St. James paints pictures the most beautiful on earth. She painted for us Santa Inez with her lamb, and Santa Rufina of Sevilla, with her palms and earthen vases." "And has she not taught you to paint also?" "Me! Oh, no. I am only a Sister, young and of no gifts. Sister St. James is a great saint, and of age she has seventy years."