ng without you, but I thought you didn't
care. You can wear that chiffon hat everywhere you want to, and I'll
get you a pink organdy dress for Sundays."

[Illustration: SHE EYED CHESTER SOURLY.]

Mackereling Out in the Gulf

The mackerel boats were all at anchor on the fishing grounds; the sea
was glassy calm--a pallid blue, save for a chance streak of deeper
azure where some stray sea breeze ruffled it.

It was about the middle of the afternoon, and intensely warm and
breathless. The headlands and coves were blurred by a purple heat
haze. The long sweep of the sandshore was so glaringly brilliant that
the pained eye sought relief among the rough rocks, where shadows were
cast by the big red sandstone boulders. The little cluster of fishing
houses nearby were bleached to a silvery grey by long exposure to wind
and rain. Far off were several "Yankee" fishing schooners, their sails
dimly visible against the white horizon.

Two boats were hauled upon the "skids" that ran from the rocks out
into the water. A couple of dories floated below them. Now and then a
white gull, flashing silver where its plumage caught the sun, soared
landward.

A young man was standing by the skids, watching the fishing boats
through a spyglass. He was tall, with a straight, muscular figure clad
in a rough fishing suit. His face was deeply browned by the gulf
breezes and was attractive rather than handsome, while his eyes, as
blue and clear as the gulf waters, were peculiarly honest and frank.

Two wiry, dark-faced French-Canadian boys were perched on one of the
boats, watching the fishing fleet with lazy interest in their
inky-black eyes, and wondering if the "Yanks" had seined many mackerel
that day.

Presently three people came down the steep path from the fish-houses.
One of them, a girl, ran lightly forward and touched Benjamin Selby's
arm. He lowered his glass with a start and looked around. A flash of
undisguised delight transfigured his face.

"Why, Mary Stella! I didn't expect you'd be down this hot day. You
haven't been much at the shore lately," he added reproachfully.

"I really haven't had time, Benjamin," she answered carelessly, as she
took the glass from his hand and tried to focus it on the fishing
fleet. Benjamin steadied it for her; the flush of pleasure was still
glowing on his bronzed cheek, "Are the mackerel biting now?"

"Not just now. Who is that stranger with your father, Mary Stella?"

"That is a