--for one so necessary to the
sick and afflicted!"

"Didn't you come to hunt gulls' eggs, Note?"

"You know that that is my sole aim and ambition in life. Come!"

Over ledges and salt marshes, at the feet of the thin, storm-broken
trees, they found them, nestled there, three, four, eight in a nest,
the birds flying, circling overhead. Vesty gathered them in her apron,
eager, searching from tree to tree. Her hair came down. She looked up
at Note, apologetic, humble, so eager she hardly minded.

"Hold my apron, Note."

This he did obediently.

With downcast eyes and a blush on her cheeks that would have exonerated
Eve, she wound up her hair again, and restored her own hold on her
apron.

"I did not kiss you then, Vesty."

"Well, of course."

"I'm good, but my mind is still on you."

Over ledges and salt marshes, and the thin, storm-broken trees, and out
there on the water there 's a strange color growing. Even the Basins
seldom fail to _start_, at least, for home by sunset.

So a little white sail puts out on the crimson sea. The breeze is
dying out, the waters lap, subside. Notely takes down the sail and
rows.

The sea fades to softer colors, hushed, wondrous, near the dim shore.

"It isn't ever known, in any place in all the world, that angels--no, I
know--but look, Note!--they almost might."

"Only here at the Basin, Vesty; when that very last light fades. I saw
two flying up--flying back again--just now. How many did you see?"

She turned her happy, awesome eyes on him, but his keen face, in that
light, was as simple and pathetic as her own.

"But my mind is on _you_, Vesty. Now, before we touch the shore, when
will you marry me?"

"I've been thinking. O Note, perhaps it isn't my place to marry you;
perhaps I wouldn't do you any good to marry you, Note. They say you
were first in your class, off there, and there are so many things for
you, and your mother, and friends, will help you so much more--if I
don't."

"I may as well tell you the truth, Vesty. I'm not that strong person
that I look"--the angels that he saw, flying up, will forgive that sly
smile on the boy's mouth--"I couldn't go away and leave you, and go
into that false, feverish struggle out there, and live anything more
than the wreck of a life, at least. I'm affected."

"Where is it that you have such trouble, Note?"

"It 's my heart, Vesty Kirtland. I must have a Basin for my wife,
calm, strong, sweet; one who ca