He cleared his throat.

“You’ve got one that will be mighty sorry to have you ever go away from California again.”  He became suddenly confused and embarrassed by his own words.

“I don’t suppose—­I don’t suppose you’d care to—­to try it again, Martie?  I’m considerable older than you are—­I know that.  But I don’t believe you’d ever be sorry—­home for the boy—­”

Colour rushed to her face:  voiceless, she looked at him.

“Don’t be in any hurry to make up your mind,” he said kindly.  “You and me are old neighbours and friends—­I’m not a-going to rush you—­ "

Still Martie was speechless, honestly moved by his affection.

“It never entered my head to put any one in Mary’s place,” he said, gaining a little ease as he spoke, “until you came back, with that boy to raise, and took hold so plucky and good-natured.  Ruth and I are alone now:  I’ve buried my wife and my brother, and my father and mother, and poor Florence ain’t going to live long—­poor girl.  I believe you’d have things comfortable, and, as I say—­”

“Why, there’s only one thing I can say, Cliff,” Martie said, finding words as his voice began to flounder.  “I—­I’m glad you feel that way, and I hope—­I hope I can make you happy.  I certainly—­I surely am going to try to!”

He turned her a quick, smiling glance, and drew a great breath of relief.

“Well, sir—­then a bargain’s a bargain!” he said in great satisfaction.  “I’ve been telling myself for several days that you liked me enough to try it, but when it came right down to it I—­ well, I was just about scared blue!”

Martie’s happy laugh rang out.  She laid her smooth fingers over his big ones, on the wheel, for a second.  “I don’t know that I ever felt any happier in my life!” the man presently declared.  “We may not be youngsters, but I don’t know but what we can give them all cards and spades when it comes to sure-enough, old-fashioned happiness!”

So it was settled, in a few embarrassed and clumsy phrases.  Martie’s heart sang with joy and triumph.  She really felt a wave of devotion to the big, gentle man beside her; all the future was rose-coloured.  She had reached harbour at last.

There was time for little more talk before they were at the beach, and the excitement of luncheon preparations were upon them.  The bay, a tidal bay perhaps a mile in circumference, was framed in a fine, sandy shore:  long, natural jetties of rock had been flung out far into the softly rippling water.  The tide was making, perhaps a dozen feet below the fringe of shells and seaweed, cocoanuts and driftwood that marked high-water.

In a group of great rocks the boxes and baskets were piled, and the fire kindled.  The wind blew a shower of fine sand across the faces of the laughing men and women, the children screamed and shouted as they flirted with the lazily running waves.  Women, opening boxes of neatly packed food, exclaimed with full mouths over every contribution but their own.