Helen shook her head firmly and reprovingly. "Men get over THAT
kind of drowning," she said.

"Not THIS kind of man doesn't!" said Latimer. "And don't tell
me," he cried indignantly, "that that's ANOTHER thing they all
say."

"If one could only be sure!" sighed Helen. "If one could only be
sure that you--that the right man would keep on caring after you
marry him the way he says he cares before you marry him. If you
could know that, it would help you a lot in making up your mind."

"There is only one way to find that out," said Latimer; "that is
to marry him. I mean, of course," he corrected hastily, "to marry
me."

One day, when on their way to the cliff at the end of the wood
road, the man who makes the Nantucket sailor and peddles him
passed through the village; and Latimer bought the sailorman and
carried him to their hiding-place. There he fastened him to the
lowest limb of one of the ancient pine-trees that helped to
screen their hiding-place from the world. The limb reached out
free of the other branches, and the wind caught the sailorman
fairly and spun him like a dancing dervish. Then it tired of him,
and went off to try to drown the Chapman boy, leaving the
sailorman motionless with his arms outstretched, balancing in
each hand a tiny oar and smiling happily.

"He has a friendly smile," said Helen; "I think he likes us."