Turning his head slowly, he followed the sky-line, pausing especially
when his eyes rested landward on the brown Contra Costa hills, and
seaward, past Alcatraz, on the Golden Glate. The wistfulness in his eyes
was overwhelming and went to her heart.

"That," he said, sweeping the circle of the world with a wave of his
arm.

"That?" she queried.

He looked at her, perplexed in that he had not made his meaning clear.

"Don't you ever feel that way?" he asked, bidding for sympathy with his
dream. "Don't you sometimes feel you'd die if you didn't know what's
beyond them hills an' what's beyond the other hills behind them hills?
An' the Golden Gate! There's the Pacific Ocean beyond, and China, an'
Japan, an' India, an'... an' all the coral islands. You can go anywhere
out through the Golden Gate--to Australia, to Africa, to the seal
islands, to the North Pole, to Cape Horn. Why, all them places are just
waitin' for me to come an' see 'em. I've lived in Oakland all my life,
but I'm not going to live in Oakland the rest of my life, not by a long
shot. I'm goin' to get away... away...."

Again, as words failed to express the vastness of his desire, the wave
of his arm swept the circle of the world.

Saxon thrilled with him. She too, save for her earlier childhood, had
lived in Oakland all her life. And it had been a good place in which to
live... until now. And now, in all its nightmare horror, it was a place
to get away from, as with her people the East had been a place to get
away from. And why not? The world tugged at her, and she felt in touch
with the lad's desire. Now that she thought of it, her race had never
been given to staying long in one place. Always it had been on the move.
She remembered back to her mother's tales, and to the wood engraving in
her scrapbook where her half-clad forebears, sword in hand, leaped from
their lean beaked boats to do battle on the blood-drenched sands of
England.

"Did you ever hear about the Anglo-Saxons?" she asked the boy.

"You bet!" His eyes glistened, and he looked at her with new interest.
"I'm an Anglo-Saxon, every inch of me. Look at the color of my eyes, my
skin. I'm awful white where I ain't sunburned. An' my hair was yellow
when I was a baby. My mother says it'll be dark brown by the time I'm
grown up, worse luck. Just the same, I'm Anglo-Saxon. I am of a fighting
race. We ain't afraid of nothin'. This bay--think I'm afraid of it!" He
looked out over the water w