And she listened, heart intent, until he spoke no more; and the sea-wind rose again filling her ears with the ceaseless menace of the surf.
After a while he picked up his rod, and sat erect and cross-legged as she sat, and flicked the flies, absently, across the grass, aiming at wind-blown butterflies.
"All these changes!" he exclaimed with a sweep of the rod-butt toward Widgeon Bay.

"When I was here as a boy there were no fine estates, no great houses, no country clubs, no game preserves--only a few fishermen's hovels along the Bay of Shoals, and Frigate Light yonder.

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