Eph built his boat, and, in spite of his evident dislike of visitors,
the inside finish and the arrangements of the little cabin were so
ingenious and so novel that everybody had to pay him a visit.

True to his plan of being independent, he built in the side of the hill,
near his barn, by a little gravelly pond, an ice-house, and, with the
hardest labor, filled it, all by himself. With this supply, he would not
have to go to the general wharf at Sandy Point to sell his fish, with
the other men, but could pack and ship them himself. And he could do
better, in this way, he thought, even after paying for teaming them to
the cars.

The knowing ones laughed to see that, from asking no advice, he had
miscalculated and laid in three times as much as he could use.

"Guess Eph cal'lates ter fish with two lines in each hand and 'nother in
his teeth," said Mr. Wing. "He's plannin' out for a great lay o' fish."

The spring came slowly on, and the first boat that went out that season
was Eph's. That day was one of unmixed delight to him. What a sense of
absolute freedom, when he was fairly out beyond the lightship, with the
fresh swiftness of the wind in his face! What an exquisite consciousness
of power and control, as his boat went beating through the long waves!
Two or three men from another village sailed across his wake. His boat
lay over, almost showing her keel, now high out of water, now settling
between the waves, while Eph stood easily in the stern in his
shirt-sleeves, steering with his knee, smoking a pipe, heaving and
hauling his line astern for bluefish.

"Takes it nat'ral ag'in, don't he? Stands as easy as ef he was loafin'