It had been a complete success. The matrons who had organized it scanned the crowd converging toward the dock and smiled the comfortable smile of accomplishment. The summer home for tenement children could build its new wing and employ that man from Boston who had such modern scientific methods. And the matrons, stiff in the back and unbecomingly flushed after sitting two hours in the sun on the stone seats of the theater, drew toward one another on the wharf and agreed that everything had gone off beautifully and the board should at once write to Mr. Driscoll and thank him for lending the island. The fleet of boats, rocking gently on the narrow channel that separated Gull Island from the mainland, took on their freight and darted off. They started in groups then broke apart. Speed boats that had come from points afar, whizzed away with a seething rush and a crumple of crystal foam at the bow. The launches skimmed, light-winged, the white flurry of their wakes like threads that stretched back to the island. People turned and looked at it--sun-gilded in an encircling girdle of Prussian blue sea. The rocks about its base, the headlands that rose above, were dyed to an orange red and against this brilliancy of primary colors the pines stood out darkly silhouetted. On the rise above the wharf the long brown structure of the house spread, rambling and irregular, built, it was said, to suggest an outgrowth of the rocky foundation. The watchers could see in the open place beyond the side balcony the actors standing motionless, spaced in a group. Yes, having their photographs taken; there was the camera man who’d been taking pictures during the performance. And they craned their necks for a last look at the lovely scene and the picturesque assemblage of players. Part of the flotilla carried the Hayworth villagers--all-year residents of the little town on the mainland. Some of the more solid citizens were in the launch that old Gabriel Harvey owned, which had been used by the actors in their week’s stay. Hayworth had gathered a great deal of information about these spectacular visitors, some from Gabriel and some from Sara Pinkney who was Mr. Driscoll’s housekeeper, living in Hayworth all winter and in summer reigning in the Gull Island kitchen. Mr. Driscoll had wired Sara to go over and open up and take charge while they were there--spare nothing, those were his orders. And Sara had done it, not wanting to, but apart from its being Mr. Driscoll’s wishes which she had followed for the last ten years, she had felt it her duty to keep an eye on the property. Every day she came over to Hayworth for supplies and had to appease the local curiosity, which she did grudgingly, feeling her power.