he after deck.

The day was a rare one, even for early June. Across the surface of the
water--now a sparkling, joyful blue--the air came free and full of life.
This air was exhilarating. It inspired Father Burke to tell a funny
anecdote, and he did it well. For not only did Father Burke possess a
sense of humor, but his heavy, benevolent face, white hair, and deep
voice gave unusual impressiveness to whatever he chose to utter. Even
Mr. Appleton Marshall, a victim of acute Bostonia, eluded for a time his
own self-consciousness. He soon went below, however, to revel,
undisturbed, in a conservative local paper. Mr. Patrick Boyd,--or Pats,
as we may as well call him,--being always of a buoyant spirit, added
liberally to the general cheer.

The young lady regarded this addition to her party with a peculiar
interest. She knew that the mention of his name in his own family was
for years a thing forbidden. Just how bad he was, or how innocent, she
had never learned. And now, as she studied, furtively, this exile of
uncertain reputation, and as she recognized the open nature, the
fortitude, the tranquil spirit, all unmistakably written in his
emaciated, sunburnt face, her curiosity was quickened. She knew that
Sally, his elder sister,--her own intimate friend,--had persisted in a
correspondence with her brother against her father's wishes. And that,
perhaps, was in his favor. At least, he had a good mouth and honest
eyes. His neck, his hands, and his legs were preternaturally thin, and
she wondered if the gap between his collar and his throat told a
truthful story of South African fever. If so, the change had been
appalling. However, neither bullets nor fever had reduced his spirits.

The conversation touched on many things. When she happened to say that
this was her first visit to the Boyds' Canadian house, he replied:

"And mine too."

"Have you never seen it?" she asked in surprise.

"Never. My father bought this place about ten years ago, and I have been
away over thirteen years."

"I had forgotten you had been away so long."

With a smile and a slight inclination of his head, he replied:

"That you should know of my existence is a flattering surprise. Any
mention of my name, I understand, was a state's prison offence until my
father died."

"Not quite so bad as that."

"A man's fame is not apt to flourish when corked up in a bottle and laid
away in a closet, with 'Poison' on the label."

Here was a chance to