er in life than the general certainty there is that every small
event will urge her forward on it. Usually the home-coming of Denas
was watched for and seen afar off, and some special dainty was
simmering on the hob for her refreshment. There was all the pleasant
flurry that belongs to love's warm welcome. But she had delayed her
return in order to spend the evening with Roland, and the environments
of the morning had not the same air of easy happiness that attaches
itself to the evening hours.

Joan was elbow-deep in her week's cleaning and baking. John had the
uncomfortable feeling of a man who knows himself in the way. He had
only loitered around in order to see Denas and be sure that all was
well with his girl. Then he was a trifle disappointed that she had not
brought him his weekly paper. He went silently off to the boats, and
Denas was annoyed and reproved by his patient look of disappointment.
Women who are cleaning and baking are often, what is called by people
less troublesomely employed, cross. Denas was sure her mother was
cross and a little unreasonable. She had not time to listen to the
village gossip; "it would keep till evening," she said.

Then she bid Denas hurry up and get her father's heavy guernsey mended
and his bottle of water filled, ready for the boat. "They be going out
on the noon ebb," she said, "and back with the midnight tide, and so
take thought for the Sabbath; for your father, he do have to preach
over to Pendree to-morrow, and the sermon more on his mind than the
fishing--God help us!"

"Will father expect me to walk with him to Pendree to-morrow, mother?
It is too far; I cannot walk so far."

"Will he expect you? Not as I know by, Denas--if you don't want to go.
There be girls as would busy all to do so. But there! it is easy seen
you are neither fatherish or motherish these days."

"I wish father was rich enough to stay at home and never go to sea
again."

"That be a bit of nonsense! Your father has had a taking to the sea
all his life; and he never could abide to be boxed up on land. Aw, my
dear, John Penelles is a busker of a fisherman! The storm never yet
did blow that down-daunted him! Tris says it is a great thing to see
your father stand smiling by the wheel when the lightning be flying
all across the elements and the big waves be threatening moment by
moment to make a mouthful of the boat. That be the Penelles' way, my
dear; they come from a good old _haveage_;[3] but th