IN the clear morning light the mackerel fleet stood out against the horizon. Only one boat had not gone out—a dark one, green with crimson lines and gold along her prow. The girl on the beach looked at it curiously as she selected her fish from the dory, transferring them to the pan held high in the hollow of her arm. The silver scales gleamed in the sun—lavender, green and blue, and violet-black, as she lifted them, in running lines of light. The salt tang in the air and the little wind that rippled the water touched her face. She lifted it with a quick breath and looked out to the mackerel fleet upon the sea.... Uncle William had promised to take her—some day. She returned again to her fish, selecting them with quick, scrutinizing glance.... A shadow fell across the pan and she looked up. The young man had paused by the dory—and was regarding her with sombre eyes.

The little curls shook themselves and she stood up. “Aren’t you going out?”

The sombre eyes transferred themselves to the sky. “By and by—maybe—no hurry.” He smiled down at her, and the blood in her cheeks quickened.

“Everybody else has gone—” She waved an impatient hand at the distant fleet that sailed the horizon.

“I haven’t gone,” he said. He continued to study the sky with serene gaze.

“Why don’t you?” she asked severely.

He looked at her again, the little, dark smile touching his lip, “I’m waiting for luck,” he said.

“You won’t find it here—” Her eye swept the beach—with its tumbling fishhouses and the litter of dories and trawls.

“Maybe I shall,” he said. He looked down at the dory. “There are more fish right there than I’ve caught in three days,” he said quietly.

Her wide eyes regarded him—with a little laugh in them somewhere. “They call you ’King of the Fleet,’ don’t they?” she said demurely.

“That’s what they call me,” he replied. He moved a little away from her toward a dory at the water’s edge. “Want to go out?” he said carelessly.

Her eyes danced, and she looked down at the fish in her pan and up to the sky, and ran lightly to the fish-house and pushed the pan far inside and shut the door. “I ought to be getting dinner,” she said, coming back, with a quick smile.

“Never mind dinner.” He held out his hand and she scrambled into the dory, her eyes shining and the little curls bobbing about her face. She was like a child—made happy.

He pulled out with long strokes, looking contentedly at her as she sat huddled in the end of the boat. “I am taking you along for luck, you know.”

“I’ll never bring anybody luck,” she replied. Her eyes followed the great gulls overhead. “I’m like the birds, I guess,” she lifted her hand, “I just keep around where luck is.”

“That’s good enough for me,” he replied. He helped her into the boat and lifted anchor, running up the sails and casting off. The breeze freshened and caught the sail and filled it and the great boat crept from the harbor and rounded the point.... Out in the open, it was blowing stiff and the boat ran fast before it, little dashes of spray striking the bow and flying high. The girl’s laugh sounded in the splashing water, and the salt spray was on her arms and cheeks and hair.

The young man looked at her and smiled and turned the bow—ever so little—to take the wave and send it splashing about her, and her laugh came to him through the swash of the spray. It was a game—old as the world... pursuit and laughter and flight and soft, shining color and the big sun overhead, pulling the whole game steadily through space—holding the eggshell boats on the waves and these two, riding out to sea.

He turned the bow again and the splashing of the water ceased. She was looking at him with beseeching, shining eyes, and he bent a little forward, a tremulous smile of power on his lip. He was drinking life—and sky and sea were blotted out. The boat ran heedless on her way... and he talked foolish nothings that sounded important and strange in his unstopped ears.... The girl nodded shyly and spoke now and then—but only to the sky and sea....

The sky had darkened and the distant fleet bore toward home—casting curious glances toward the dark boat that moved with random hand.... George Manning could............