board here, her's been keepin' her distance in the boat yonder; on'y
us stepped ashore to larn ef there was anything us cou'd do to make
things ship-shape an' fitty for 'ee."

At the end of this long address, Peter, whose mahogany face was
several shades deeper, pulled up, and resumed his hat.

"Ship-shape an' fitty--not wishful for to introod. That's so,
Peter," echoed his brother.

Mr. Fogo looked at the pair helplessly, and again at Caleb, whose
eyes were obstinately averted.

"Caleb!"

"Sir."

"Ask Miss Dearlove if she would mind stepping ashore."

With a sudden brightening of face, Caleb called her name.
Tamsin looked up.

"Ef 'ee please, you'm to come ashore, to wance!"

The girl rowed a couple of strokes, grounded the boat, and stepped
lightly ashore with a big basket and an unembarrassed glance at the
Notice.

"There's a few young potatoes at the bottom," she said, with a
curtsey, as she handed her gift to Mr. Fogo. "They're the earliest
and best anywhere in these parts. Can you cook potatoes?" she asked,
suddenly turning to Caleb. Beneath her sun-bonnet her pretty cheek
was flushed, and her chin thrust forward with just a shadow of
defiance.

"Iss, to be sure," grinned Caleb. "Why, us does our own washin'."

Tamsin's eyes travelled without bashfulness over the array upon the
beach.

"Pretty washing, I expect!" She walked up and took some of the
clothes into her hand. "Look here--not half-wrung--and some fallen
in the mud and dirtied worse than ever."

With fine contempt she moved among the clothes, wrung them, spread
them out again, and even returned with some to the wash-tub.
Like four whipped schoolboys the males looked on as she tucked up the
sleeves of her neat print gown.

"Soap, too, left to float in the wash-tub, and--salt water I declare!
Caleb, empty this and get some soft water from the old butt by the
back door. Oh, you poor, helpless baby!"

Mr. Fogo, though the words were not spoken to him, winced and turned
to stare abstractedly at the river.

"Sir," said Caleb from his hammock that night, "cudn' 'ee put in a
coddysel?"

"A codicil?"

"Iss, just to say, 'No wimmen allowed but Tamsin Dearlove--us don't
mind she.' Wudn' that do, sir?"

"I'm afraid not, Caleb. By-the-bye, how does your Notice run?
'All women found trespassing will be--'"

"Dealt wi' 'cordin' to the law, sir."

"Dear me, Caleb!" murmured Mr. Fogo, "but I trust that under no
circumstances s