environment, she thought, going back in memory to the masters whose
wisdom she had shared in lecture-room and midnight study. She was a
ripened child of the age, and fairly understood the physical world and
the workings thereof. And she had a love for the world, and a deep
respect.

For some time Del Bishop had only punctuated the silence with splashes
from his oars; but a thought struck him.

"You haven't told me your name," he suggested, with complacent delicacy.

"My name is Welse," she answered. "Frona Welse."

A great awe manifested itself in his face, and grew to a greater and
greater awe. "You--are--Frona--Welse?" he enunciated slowly. "Jacob
Welse ain't your old man, is he?"

"Yes; I am Jacob Welse's daughter, at your service."

He puckered his lips in a long low whistle of understanding and stopped
rowing. "Just you climb back into the stern and take your feet out of
that water," he commanded. "And gimme holt that can."

"Am I not bailing satisfactorily?" she demanded, indignantly.

"Yep. You're doin' all right; but, but, you are--are--"

"Just what I was before you knew who I was. Now you go on
rowing,--that's your share of the work; and I'll take care of mine."