kling motion and the free, fresh, sunlit air. Her hands clasped
together, and Jacob Johnson watched her white face with its wide eyes
and mute lips.

The exceptional beauty of the May day caused even Cap'n Lem to expend
silent approval on the familiar scene. He waited for a longer period
than usual before he clucked to the horses, and they began a cautious
descent of the winding road, their heavy hind-quarters braced almost
against the wagon in their experience of sundry rolling stones.

"Hahnsome weather, surely," he remarked.

"I've never, never dreamed of anything like it," ejaculated Sylvia, and
relapsed into dumbness.

Her host smiled, well pleased.

As the road descended to a level it approached the water of a small bay
whose sheltered reaches watered a luxuriant evergreen growth among
which appeared an occasional birch. These adorned the sloping bank,
interspersed with rock, and turned the blue depths to green as they
leaned toward the water as if in the effort to catch their own lovely
reflections.

"We'll get out here and walk up to the house, Cap'n," said Thinkright.
"Tell Mrs. Lem we'll be there by supper time. We had our luncheon on
the road."

Sylvia took the hand her host offered in silence, and jumped out of the
wagon. Cap'n Lem clucked to the horses again, and they rattled away.

"Why does he call you Thinkright?" the girl asked abruptly, as her
companion paused on a clearing in the grassy bank to let her view the
picture before them.

Jacob Johnson smiled. "They rather like nicknames in this part of the
world," he answered. "I didn't realize how much I used the expression
until all the neighbors began to label me. I knew I was always trying
to be on the mental watch, and what is much in the mind will out, I
suppose. How do you like this basin? We think it very pretty."

Apparently it was an inland lake that lay at their feet, sparkling and
rippling in the triumphant fullness of the tide. At the point where the
curving shore ran out to sea stood a large deserted tide mill on posts,
midway in the water. Its shuttered windows looked like eyes closed
against the surrounding beauty, and seemed protesting against the
witnesses of its failure. Twice every day, like a tumultuous rushing
river the tide poured water into the spacious basin, until its ripples
clambered ten feet toward the eagerly bending trees, and later the
capricious flood rushed back to the bosom of the sea. There had been
enormous