"Over there," responded the man, pointing to the opposite shore. "We can
land on that point and get driven home."

Almost mechanically the boy swung the _Scud_ around, and headed her
for the place indicated. From the moment he had caught a glimpse of the
woman clinging to the boat he had found it hard to turn away his eyes. Her
hat was gone, and the wind was blowing her dark-brown hair about her face,
which was white as death. But when she turned her large blue eyes filled
with gratitude and fear upon her rescuer, a strange feeling of
embarrassment swept suddenly over him. Women he had seen before, but none
such as this. How quiet she was, too--not a cry or complaint did she make.
Her clothes were wet; the water cold, and the wind raw. But she sat there
in the boat watching him with those big eyes as he guided the _Scud_
steadily forward.

He looked at her dress, how neat and clean it was. Then he glanced at his
own rough togs. How coarse, worn and dirty were they, while his shoes were
heavy grey brogans. A flush mantled his sun-browned face. He shifted
uneasily, gripped the tiller more firmly, and drove the _Scud_ a
point nearer to the wind. What must she think of him? he wondered. Was she
comparing him with the well-dressed man at her side, who was looking
thoughtfully out over the blue water? A feeling of jealousy stole into his
heart. He had never known such a thing before. He knew what it was to be
angry--to stamp and shout in his rage. He had engaged in several pitched
battles with the boys in the neighbourhood who had made fun of him. But
his life--a life of freedom--had satisfied him. To hunt, to trap, to
wander over hill, valley and forest was all that he asked for. He had
never thought of anything higher, never dreamed of any life but the one
his father led, hunting, and trapping in season and making a slight
pretence of farming. Now, however, something was stirring within him. He