out to sea before the wind. This was one of the prettiest sights from
the beach at "The Runs." Every morning scores of little fishing vessels
came down the river, shot past like arrows, and disappeared beyond the
bar. At night they came home again slowly; sometimes with their sails
cross-set, which made them look like great white butterflies skimming
the water. Hetty never wearied of watching them: still pictures never
wholly pleased her. The things in nature which had motion, evident aim,
purpose, arrested her eye, and gave her delight.

"I haven't learned to sail a boat yet, after all," she said regretfully,
as the doctor came up. "Only see how lovely they are. I wish I could buy
this whole place, and carry it home. I think we will all come here again
next summer."

"Not all," said Dr. Eben; "I shall not be here with you."

"No, I hope not," replied Hetty, unconsciously. Dr. Eben laughed
outright: her tone was so unaffectedly honest.

"Oh, you know what I mean," exclaimed Hetty, "I mean, I hope Sally will
not have to bring you as a physician. Of course, there is nothing to
hinder your coming here at any time, if you like," she added, in a
kindly but indifferent tone.

"But I should not want to come alone," said the doctor.

"No," said Hetty, reflectively. "It would be dull, I shouldn't like it
myself, to be here all alone. The sea is the loneliest of things in the
universe, I think. The fields and the woods and the hills all look as
if they had good fellowship with each other perpetually; but the great,