"I'm used to carrying luggage. It never bothers me. Good morning."
Without wasting additional words or time, the stranger nodded and started off briskly in the direction indicated. Nevertheless, swiftly as he moved, his eyes missed none of the panorama stretched before him.
The swelling expanse of sea, rising and falling to the rhythm of its own whispered music, caught his ear; he noted the circling gulls that dipped to the crests of the incoming waves or drifted in snowy serenity upon the tide; saw the opalescent flash of the mica-studded sands. Twice he stopped to fill his lungs with the fresh morning air, breathing deeply as if such crystalline draughts were an infrequent and appreciated luxury.
When he reached the beach he halted, glancing up and down its solitary crescent and scanning eagerly the silvered house beyond the channel. Discovering no one in sight, he dragged from the shore a yellow dory, clambered into it, and catching up the oars began to row toward the dwelling silhouetted against the water and the glory of the morning sky.
In the meantime, both Marcia and Sylvia had wakened early and were astir.
The kitchen fire was already snapping merrily in the stove, however, and the table was spread before the latter made her appearance.
She came in, sweater and beret in hand, and carrying a thick envelope with its dashingly scrawled address still wet.
"Why, Sylvia, how you startled me!" Marcia exclaimed. "I did not hear you come down stairs. Why are you up so early?"
"I'm going to town to catch the morning mail."
"The mail? But, my dear child, why such haste?"
"Yes--to Hortie. You see, if I didn't answer promptly he might think the candy had gone astray," explained the girl stepping to the mirror and arranging a curl that rippled distractingly above her forehead.
"Oh, of course, you must thank him for the candy," Marcia agreed. "Still, is it necessary to do so in such a rush--to walk to the village this morning?"
"I'm afraid you can't, dear. I discovered last night the boat was gone. Eleazer Crocker must have appropriated it when he was here yesterday."
"How horrid of him! What earthly right had he to take it?"
"No. To tell the truth, I went to find a book for him and was gone so long he apparently became either peeved or impatient at my delay and like a silly small boy went home mad, taking the boat with him--at least that's my version of the story."