Jane had been waiting for him for hours.  She held an open letter in her hand, and her face was happier, Archie thought as he approached her, than he had seen it for months.

There are times in all lives when suddenly and without warning, those who have been growing quietly by our side impress their new development upon us.  We look at them in full assurance that the timid glance of the child will be returned, and are astounded to find instead the calm gaze of the man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering step and touch a muscle that could lead a host.  Such changes are like the breaking of the dawn; so gradual has been their coming that the full sun of maturity is up and away flooding the world with beauty and light before we can recall the degrees by which it rose.

Jane realized this—­and for the first time—­as she looked at Archie swinging through the gate, waving his hat as he strode toward her.  She saw that the sailor had begun to assert itself.  He walked with an easy swing, his broad shoulders—­almost as broad as the captain’s and twice as hard—­thrown back, his head up, his blue eyes and white teeth laughing out of a face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief —­one of Tod’s—­wound loosely about it; a man really, strong and tough, with hard sinews and capable thighs, back, and wrists—­the kind of sailorman that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure and never lose place in either station.

In this rude awakening Jane’s heart-strings tightened.  She became suddenly conscious that the Cobden look had faded out of him; Lucy’s eyes and hair were his, and so was her rounded chin, with its dimple, but there was nothing else about him that recalled either her own father or any other Cobden she remembered.  As he came near enough for her to look into his eyes she began to wonder how he would impress Lucy, what side of his nature would she love best—­his courage and strength or his tenderness?

The sound of his voice shouting her name recalled her to herself, and a thrill of pride illumined her happy face like a burst of sunlight as he tossed his tarpaulins on the grass and put his strong arms about her.

“Mother, dear! forty black bass, eleven weakfish, and half a barrel of small fry—­what do you think of that?”

“Splendid, Archie.  Tod must be proud as a peacock.  But look at this!” and she held up the letter.  “Who do you think it’s from?  Guess now,” and she locked one arm through his, and the two strolled back to the house.

“Guess now!” she repeated, holding the letter behind her back.  The two were often like lovers together.

“Let me see,” he coaxed.  “What kind of a stamp has it got?”

“Never you mind about the stamp.”

“Uncle John—­and it’s about my going to Philadelphia.”

Jane laughed.  “Uncle John never saw it.”

“Then it’s from—­Oh, you tell me, mother!”