There was a singular still sweetness in the early summer morning on the water.  The air seemed to have twice the life it had the evening before; the light was fair, beyond words to tell.  Here its fresh gilding was upon a mountain slope; there it stretched in a long misty beam athwart a deep valley; it touched the broken points of rock, and glanced on the river, and seemed to make merry with the birds; fresh, gladsome and pure as their song.  No token of man’s busy life yet in the air; the birds had it.  Only over Shahweetah valley, and from Mr. Underhill’s chimney on the other side of the river, and from Sam Doolittle’s in the bay, thin wreaths of blue smoke slowly went up, telling that there, —­ and there, —­ and there, —­ man was getting ready for his day’s work, and woman had begun hers!  Only those, and the soft stroke of Winthrop’s oars; but to Elizabeth that seemed only play.  She sat perfectly still, her eye varying from their regular dip to the sunny rocks of the headland, to the coloured mountain heads, the trees, the river, the curling smoke, —­ and back again to the oars; with a grave, intent, deep notice-taking.  The water was neither for nor against them now; and with its light load and its good oars the boat flew.  Diver’s Rock was passed; then they got out of the sunshine into the cool shadow of the eastern shore below the bay, and fell down the river fast to the mill.  Not a word was spoken by anybody till they got there.

Nor then by Elizabeth, till she saw Mr. Cowslip and Winthrop bringing her trunks and boxes to the boat-side.

“Hollo! you’ve got live cargo too, Governor,” said the old miller.  “That aint fair, —­ Mornin’! —­ The box is safe.”

“Are you going to put those things in here?” said Elizabeth.

“Sartain,” said Mr. Cowslip; —­ “book-box and all.”

“But they’ll be too much for the boat?”

“Not at all,” said Winthrop; “it was only because the tide was so low last night —­ there wasn’t water enough in the bay.  I am not going in the bay this morning.”

“No,” said Mr. Cowslip, —­ “tide’s just settin’ up along shore —­ you can keep along the edge of the flats.”

“You have load enough without them.  Don’t put ’em in here, sir!” Elizabeth exclaimed; —­ “let them go in the other boat —­ your boat —­ you said you had a boat —­ it’s at home now, isn’t it?”

“Sartain,” said Mr. Cowslip, “it’s to hum, so it can start off again as soon as you like.  My boy Hild can fetch up the things for you —­ if you think it’s worth while to have it cost you a dollar.”

“I don’t care what it costs,” said Elizabeth.  “Send ’em up right away, and I’ll pay for it.”

So Winthrop dropped into his place again, and lightly and swiftly as before the boat went on her way back towards the blue smoke that curled up over Shahweetah; and Elizabeth’s eyes again roved silently and enjoyingly from one thing to another.  But they returned oftener to the oars, and rested there, and at last when they were about half way home, she said,