, athletic figure swung up the
causeway, holding it away from him, as if it might nip at him. He wore a
dark blue jersey, and loose, flapping trousers of a seaman.

"He's only a sailor," Sally said under her breath; "I'd better tip him."
Her hand slipped into her pocket and I heard the click of her purse.

He looked from one to the other of us in the dim light inquiringly, as
he came up, and then off went his cap, and his face broke into the
gentlest, most charming smile as he delivered the hat into Sally's
outstretched hands.

"I'm afraid it's a bit damp," he said.

All dark-eyed, stalwart young fellows are attractive to me for the sake
of one like that who died forty years ago, but this sailor had a charm
of manner that is a gift of the gods, let it fall to prince or peasant;
the pretty deference of his few words, and the quick, radiant smile,
were enough to win friendliness from me. More than that, something in
the set of his head, in the straight gaze of his eyes, held a likeness
that made my memory ache. I smiled back at him instantly. But Sally's
heart was on her hat; hats from good shops did not grow on trees for
Sally Meade.

"I hope it isn't hurt," she said, anxiously, and shook it carefully, and
hardly glanced at the rescuer, who was watching with something that
looked like amusement in his face. Then her good manners came back.

"Thank you a thousand times," she said, and turned to him brightly. "You
were so quick--but, oh! I'm afraid you're wet." She looked at him, and I
saw a little shock of surprise in her face. Beauty so striking will be
admired, even in a common sailor.

"It's nothing," he said, looking down at his sopping, wide trousers;
"I'm used to it," and as Sally's hand went forward I caught the flash of
silver, and at the same moment another flash, from the man's eyes.

It was enough to startle me for the fraction of a second, but, as I
looked again, his expression held only a serious respect, and I was sure
I had been mistaken. He took the money and touched his cap and said,
"Thank you, miss," with perfect dignity. Yet my imagination must have
been lively, for as he slipped it in his pocket, his look turned toward
me, and for another breath of time a gleam of mischief--certainly
mischief--flashed from his dark eyes to mine.

Then Sally, quite unconscious of this, perhaps imaginary, by-play, had
an idea. "Are you a sailor?" she asked.

The man looked at her. "Yes--miss," he answered, a