CHAPTER VI

Julie in a dripping black bathing-suit, a green silk kerchief bound about her head, perched on the bow of Captain Phineas Snow’s dory anchored off shore. Her sunbrowned hands clasped one silken knee in an affectionate embrace as she gave ear to the fisherman’s monologue as he tinkered with the engine. The spaniel, head tilted, gravely superintended the repairs. “It beats all how Ben Cheever hangs on, don’t it? It’s jest two weeks to-morrer since he was struck down an’ they say he don’t git no better’n no worse. The…