“So you are back again,” she remarked.

“Yes, I am back again.”

“And nothing has happened?”

“Nothing has happened,” he assented, wearily.  “Nothing ever will happen now.”

She smiled.

“You mean that you will stay here and build boats all your life?”

“That is what I mean to do,” he announced.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder.

“Don’t believe it, Leonard,” she said.  “There is other work for you in the world somewhere, just as there is for me.”

He shook his head and she picked up her basket again, smiling.

“Your time will come as it comes to the rest of us,” she declared, cheerfully.  “You won’t want to sit here and bury your talents in the sands all your days.  Have you heard what is going to happen to me?”

“No!  Something good, I hope.”

“My father’s favorite niece is coming to live with us—­there are seven of them altogether, and farming doesn’t pay like it used to, so Margaret is coming here.  Father says that if she is as handy as she used to be I may go back to the schools almost at once.”

Tavernake was silent for a moment.  Then he got up and threw down his tools.

“Great Heavens!” he exclaimed.  “If I am not becoming the most selfish brute that ever breathed!  Do you know, the first thought I had was that I should miss you?  You are right, young woman, I must get out of this.”

She disappeared into the house, smiling, and Tavernake called out to Nicholls, who was sitting on the wall.

“Mr. Nicholls,” he asked, “how much notice do you want?”

Matthew Nicholls removed his pipe from his mouth.

“Why, I don’t know that I’m particular,” he replied, “being as you want to go.  Between you and me, I’m gettin’ fat and lazy since you came.  There ain’t enough work for two, and that’s all there is to it, and being as you’re young and active, why, I’ve left it to you, and look at my arms.”

He held them up.

“Used to be all muscle, now they’re nothin’ but bloomin’ pap.  And no’ but two glasses of beer a day extra have I drunk, just to pass the time.  You can stay if you will, young man, but you can go out fishin’ and leave me the work, and I’ll pay you just the same, for I’m not saying that I don’t like your company.  Or you can go when you please, and that’s the end of it.”

Matthew Nicholls spat upon the stones and replaced his pipe in his mouth.  Tavernake came in and sat down by his side.

“Look here,” he said, “I believe you are right.  I’ll stay another week but I’ll take things easy.  You get on with the boat now.  I’ll sit here and have a smoke.”

Nicholls grunted but obeyed, and for the next few days Tavernake loafed.  On his return one afternoon from a long walk, he saw a familiar figure sitting upon the sea wall in front of the workshop, a familiar figure but a strange one in these parts.  It was Mr. Pritchard, in an American felt hat, and smoking a very black cigar.  He leaned over and nodded to Tavernake, who was staring at him aghast.