lay where the splashing bucket and chain broke, every day, the image of
moss and fern. His throat grew parched and dry with longing.

When they were within three miles of the sea, it seemed to them that
they could taste the saltness of the incoming breeze; the road was
ankle-deep in dust; the garden flowers were glaring in their
brightness. It was a new world. And when at last they emerged from the
marsh-bordered road upon a ridge of sand, and turned a sudden corner,
Mrs. Pike faced her husband in triumph.

"There, father!" she cried. "There 'tis!"

But Eli's eyes were fixed on the dashboard in front of him. He looked
pale.

"Why, father," said she, impatiently, "ain't you goin' to look? It's
the sea!"

"Yes, yes," said Eli, quietly; "byme-by. I'm goin' to put the horses up
fust."

"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Pike; and as they drew up on the sandy tract
where Sereno had previously arranged a place for their tents, she
added, almost fretfully, turning to Hattie, "I dunno what's come over
your father. There's the water, an' he won't even cast his eyes at it."

But Hattie understood her father, by some intuition of love, though not
of likeness.

"Don't you bother him, ma," she said. "He'll make up his mind to it