At last came the tinkling summons, very faint and far. He arose and emerged upon the rocks. He would never have guessed that there had been a shower that day. Save for one low panel of cloud, all heaven was luminous above his young love there in the west. In that line of ultramarine a single light burned for him. Above it the tender reds of the open sky, and below it the tender reds of water, all tenderly bright from shore to shore. Presently into that pure beauty someone had the courage to paddle a canoe. He looked, and saw that it was the doctor himself, facing forward to see the sunset, and followed by a silvery wedge. Marvin clambered down the rocks and followed the silver. The point of light slowly became a window. By day a house is mostly a house, but when its evening lights shine out, it becomes a home. He was rowing home. And as he landed and walked up the path, he wished that he might never leave this place or her. He strolled in and presented himself in the kitchen, holding out his hand. She had not forgotten. A new cake of soap was visible, with towels bleached in the sun. She proceeded to fill a basin with hot water, testing it on the hypothesis that what suited her would suit him. Then she dried her hands, unbuttoned the sleeve of his blouse, and rolled it back. Shades of old chemists gathered in the kitchen to watch the experiment. They never come when hands are ungratefully washed, but here were Geoffrey and Scheele, Chevreul and Leblanc, to watch their discoveries comfort a hand in which they were interested. They were for him. But the soft electricity of the emulsification was less comforting to Marvin than the soft electricity of her touch. At last he was triumphantly dried and ready for supper, and curious to know what she had managed to assemble out of her empty storeroom. He soon found out. There were fresh eggs, each a marvel of organization. There was baked macaroni with a crust of cheese. There were beautiful biscuits with never an atom of sodium left in them. There was strawberry jam transformed by its Indian name of bashkeeminsigun, which sounds more delicious. And there was fragrant oolong, concealing rubidium in its leaves. She had made a feast out of nothing, but he knew she could hardly do it again. “Do you mind telling me what we shall have for breakfast?” “Buckwheat cakes.” “With maple syrup?” “Why, I guess so. And for dinner tomorrow we’ll have bass chowder.” “I beg leave to doubt that. Bass don’t run till September.” “Mr. Mahan, there are bass within a foot of your island. Tomorrow I shall come and catch one under your very nose.” “I’ll bet you don’t. I’ll have him all caught before you get there, and make you pay me eighty cents a pound for him.”