The waves that curled and died on Barnegat beach--messengers from across the sea--brought only tidings fraught with suffering.
Archie had no preferences--none yet.

His future was too far off to trouble him much.

Nor did anything else worry him.
One warm September day Archie turned into Yardley gate, his so'wester still on his head framing his handsome, rosy face; his loose jacket open at the throat, the tarpaulins over his arm.

He had been outside the inlet with Tod--since daybreak, in fact--fishing for bass and weakfish.
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.