Then, before a word was spoken and while the men were still roaring with mirth, Captain Ichabod stepped forth from the shelter of the haw tree. He seemed to stand a little more erect than was his wont. There was a twinkle of delight in those kindly eyes, a little dimmed by age. He bore himself with an air of impressive manliness, despite the burden of his years. He passed around the group until he stood directly in front of the beach-comber with the gray hair. For a moment he did not speak, but stood motionless, gazing steadily at the fellow before him. But, presently, he raised his hand in a gesture commanding silence. The laughter of the coast guard ceased on the instant, and the fisherman spoke: "Men," he said in a steady voice, evidently weighing each word, "as I clim over the top o' yonder dune an' come down the slope to the shore I saw that sharpie with her nose snug-up to the shore. As I came on further I saw an' read aloud her name--_Roxana Lee_. Right then was the fust time that name had passed my lips in twenty year. It hurt me to speak it, fer 'twas that o' the only woman I have ever loved--or ever lost until just lately. The words was on my lips afore I knowed it. That woman did not die, pass away like an honest woman, but she ran off with a low-down beach-comber, whose thieving face I hain't looked upon--like the name on the stern rail o' yonder boat--fer twenty year, until to-day. Neither have I spoke his name. Seein' as how so many things has been a-happenin' here lately that is a-changin' things with me, I will say to you men--that varmint, that low-down robber o' the dead an' o' the livin' whose clawlike hands you have unhooked from the chymes o' the barrel containin' the stolen 'lasses that he hoped to get home fer Roxana Lee to wallop her dodgers in, is no less or no other than Sandy Mason, the thief who stole my gal twenty year ago, an' if I hain't plumb wrong on family favorin', that striplin' is their son." To all outward appearance, old Ichabod was perfectly calm. The men from the station regarded the speaker with faces grown suddenly stern as they realized the nature of the wrong done him. Neither Sandy Mason nor his son ventured to utter a syllable, as the fisherman continued: