game. I s'pose it's plain that the A'mighty made wild fowl to be shot,
but the man what breaks their wings and leaves 'em to crawl off an' die
in misery ain't human, he ain't! Make clean work o' it, or let 'em
alone, _I_ say," and he began gathering up his traps in a manner
that convinced Morton the conference was over.

So he said good-morning, and went whistling down the village street, the
wind from off the sea tempering the downpour of the sun on white cliff
and sand, and lifting the wide rim of his torn straw hat to caress his
ruddy cheek.

Away out on the bay was a schooner tacking against the wind, while just
rounding Rocky Point was a trim little yacht with all sail set, flying
straight in for Killamet beach.

"How pretty she rides!" he thought, and wondered, boy-like, if when he
was a big man he would sail his own craft,--the end and aim of every
fisher-boy along the Atlantic coast.

As he dreamed, he turned and walked down over the satiny sand of the
beach to the water's edge, and now could see that there were three
people in the yacht,--a little round man with big spectacles at the
rudder, a taller one, young and trim-looking in his tourist costume, who
stood boldly out on the bowsprit, while a beautiful woman with blond
hair leaned gracefully back in a steamer-chair.

With native courtesy Morton hastened to assist in securing the boat, and
was rewarded by a hearty "Thank you, my boy!" from the younger man, and
a brilliant smile from the lady, which covered him with blushes and
confusion. The older man seemed in a brown study, and only glared at him