Fox and his wife were a childless couple, and gave out they’d adopted orphan Christie, and claimed a good deal of praise for so doing; but it weren’t a very one-sided bargain, after all, for she worked like a pony, and proved more than worth her keep.  In fact, there was little in her days but work, and for a young pretty maiden not turned nineteen, there’s no doubt the toil and trouble of ‘Passage House’ and the money-grubbing passion of her uncle and aunt were a depressing state of life.

But she enjoyed the eternal hope proper to youth and looked forward to a home of her own some day, and better times when the right man came along.  She got a little fun into her work also, for the river was her delight, and as Jimmy Fox, among his other irons in the fire, rented a salmon net on Dart, Christie now and then had the pleasure of going out along with the fishers, and spending a few hours on the river.  But on these occasions she was expected to work like a man and do her part with the nets.  That was labour that gave her pleasure, however, and, thanks to the fishery, there came a day when she met a party who interested her more than any other man had done up to that time.

He was a sailor and a calm sort of chap—­dark and well-favoured with a lot of fun in him and a lot of character and determination.  First mate of a sailing vessel that traded between Dartmouth and Jersey, was Edmund Masters.  He had friends at Dittisham, and it was when along with these on the river fishing, that he got acquainted with Christie.  Then, as often as his ship, The Provider, came to Dartmouth port, he’d find occasion to be up at Dittisham and drop into “Passage House” for a drink and a glimpse of the girl.

As for Jimmy Fox, he thought nothing of it, because a sailor man was of no account in his eyes, and, indeed, he and his wife had very fixed ideas for Christie, which all too soon for her comfort she had now to hear.

After they’d got to bed one night, Mrs. Fox started the subject in her husband’s ear.

“’Tis time,” she said, “that William Bassett set on to Christie.  She’s wife-old now and a good-looking creature, and the men are after her already—­that Jersey sailor for one.  And it’s only making needless trouble for her to go hankering after some worthless youth when you and me and Bassett are all agreed that he must have her.”

They’d planned the maiden’s future to please themselves, not her; and such was the view they took of life, that they seemed to think Christie no more than their slave, to be given in marriage where it suited them best.

“There’ll be a rumpus,” said the ferryman.  “But the least said, the soonest mended.  William named her to me not long ago, and he brought her a brave dish of plums into the bar only last week.  I’ll see him to-morrow and tell him to start on her serious and offer himself and say we will it.”