During the summer and early fall, Sheila had become a splendid oarswoman.  In a skiff belonging to little John-Ed which was drawn up on the sands not far from the cabin she had paddled out through the narrow neck of the tiny cove’s entrance and pulled bravely through the surf and out upon the sea beyond.  She had learned more than a bit of sea lore, too, from Cap’n Ira and Tunis.  And regarding the edible shellfish to be found along the beaches, she was well informed.

If an old man such as Hosea Westcott, feeble and spent, no doubt, could pick up a living here, why could not she?  Sheila did not fear starvation.  Indeed, she did not even look forward to such a possibility.  She did not fear work of any kind.  With every salt breath she drew, strength, like the tide itself, flowed into her body.  Although her mind remained in a partially stunned condition, her muscles soon recovered their vigor.

Of course the girl’s presence here in the abandoned cabin, her taking up a hermit life on the shore, could not remain unknown to the neighbors on Wreckers’ Head for long.  Yet at this season of the year the men were all busy elsewhere and the women almost never came down to the beaches.  It is a remarkable fact that most longshore women have little interest in the beauties or wonders to be found along the beaches, even in the sea itself.  Perhaps this is because the latter is such a hard mistress to their menfolk.

Nevertheless, Sheila could not hide herself away from everybody—­not even on that first day.  The Balls made no outcry when they found that she had disappeared.  And no near-port fishing craft came by.  But the smoke from the chimney of the cabin, when she had swept and made comfortable its interior and built a fire of driftwood in the rusty pot stove, attracted at least one sharp eye.

Down the bank, along with a small avalanche of sand and gravel, plunged little John-Ed and his freckled face appeared at the doorway.

“By the great jib boom!” he cried.  “What you doing here?  Playing castaway?”

“Yes, John-Ed,” said Sheila.  “That is it exactly.  I am a castaway.”

He stared at her.  She could not take this boy into her confidence.  But already little John-Ed was a henchman of hers, in spite of the fact that Sheila often had made him work.

“I am going to stay here for a while,” she told him.  “But I would rather nobody but you knew about it.”

“By the great jib boom!” exploded the boy for a second time.  “Not even Cap’n Ira and Aunt Prudence?”

“Not even them,” sighed the girl.

“I bet it’s because you don’t want to stay there while that other girl is visitin’ them.  Ain’t that it?  She’s a snippy thing!”

“You must not say so to anybody,” urged Sheila.  “It will not be wrong for you to say nothing about my being here to your father and mother.  Do you understand?”

“I can keep a secret, all right,” he assured her proudly.