Next he considered where he should camp. Not on this island, which though dry enough was low and bushy. The Duckling was the proper place. So he plunged into the dripping osiers and made his way to his boat, which he proceeded to overturn and empty of its share in the shower. Then he rowed round to the south and rested on his oars to survey the island that he intended to buy.

But the minute he paused, business gave way to delicious thoughts the like of which he had never known. He had spent a life in training for the sight of her. He must have known all the time that she was there. Just as Mendeleyeff had prophesied an element like boron and an element like aluminum, so he had unconsciously known that there must be a girl as impassioned as Cynthia and as exquisitely self-contained as Gratia. Physically she was like neither, being little and brown and athletic, with eyes that thrilled him, and a short fine nose the pattern of which had never been thought of before. She had beauty and strength and mind and education—though where had she got the education?

Having a tremendous respect for the law of probability, he conceived of her as a farmer’s daughter. But what sort of farmer was it who had sent his daughter far enough from home to learn of atoms and to quote poetry with ease?

Cynthia Flory had known atomizers, for Cynthia used to spray her throat with antiseptics and her hair with synthetic jasmine, but of atoms Cynthia was flagrantly ignorant. And so was the sweet cool Gratia. Nor could either of them weave the poets into her common talk as easily as a bird weaves silken threads into its nest, though Cynthia sometimes tried it.

Thank God, the new love was poor and proud. Nobody could accuse him of marrying for money. And now that he thought of it, there was a possibility that the rock he sought might be owned by her father. She must live not far away, or she would not be carrying a key to the lamp-house. The darling—to stand by the United States government in case a light should fail the ships! If the old man did own the Duckling, he should have ten thousand for it.

How long would it take him to win her? She was saucy; she had a prejudice against the rich; she pretended to be willing to charge him eighty cents a pound for perch; and for some strange reason she had thrown away her expensive sweater as if it burned her. All this added piquancy to the situation, but when she knew that he was in earnest, she would melt. She might not exactly melt in his hand, as the metal gallium melts, but she would yield. He could not conceive it otherwise.

So he mused, drifting on the turquoise stream, and finally remembered whither he was bound. He lifted his eyes and looked at the beautiful object that his father would some day sell to be shattered.

There were dark clouds beyond it, but on the new-washed island a sheaf of glory fell, as if on a mass of dark green wavellite. The green was pine trees, two acres of them. Even along the northern cliff there were pine boughs, patterned against it with charming interruptions and balance instead of symmetry, or starring it as with wavellite crystals.

To the east it had no harbor, but there in the deep water the largest steamer would be able to lie along its even rim. Westward the shore was deeply indented, like Norway. Here a smooth slope was damascened with lichens. Here a still smoother slope plunged into the water and left the minnows visible above it, hanging like colloidal silver in the sapphire translucency.

Along this Scandinavian coast he moved with gentle oar till he came to a dainty harbor melted out by fire and smoothed down by ice. Within it the water was deep enough to float the Kittiwake safe from storm.

He landed and looked around. He lifted up his eyes and beheld a sign in the heavens. It was set vertically, nailed to a pine, and bore the unwelcome words, NO CAMPING. But as there seemed to be other words, he mounted the cliff and read the whole tale:

He laughed aloud, for the paint was perfectly fresh. She had flown home and painted this thing since she left him.

But the words were not all. Above them was a sketch of a humming-bird with wings outspread. Yet she could not possibly have seen into the thicket where he and the little jewel had winked at each other. But now he thought of it, he knew what her motions reminded him of. The Indians had named her the humming-bird, and here was a challenge to come and find her in her own nest.