Lewis looked up. His father's face was livid. His breast heaved as
though he gasped for air. Then he clenched his fists. Lewis saw the
veins on his forehead swell as he fought for self-mastery. He calmed
himself deliberately; then slowly he dropped his face in his hands.

"Some day," he said in a voice so low that Lewis could hardly hear the
words, "I shall tell you of your mother. Not now."

Gloom, like a tangible presence, filled the car. It pressed down upon
Lewis. He felt it, but in his heart he knew that for him the day was a
glad day. The train started. He leaned far out of a window. The evening
breeze was blowing from the east. To his keen nostrils came a faint
breath of the sea. When he drew his head in again, the twinkle he had
already learned to watch for was back in his father's eyes.

"What do you smell, boy?"

"I smell the sea," said Lewis.

"How do you know? How old were you when you made your first voyage?"

"Don't you know?"

Leighton shook his head.

Lewis, looking at his father with wondering eyes, regretted the spoken
question.

"I was three years old. I suppose I remember the smell of the sea,
though it seems as if I couldn't possibly. I remember the funnel of the