Having caught a pike and skinned it, Marvin carried the pearly residue up to Miss Mabel. Then he lingered a little with the old gunsmith, talking about guns and the new alloys of steel. He spoke of meeting Ojeeg, and learned that the chief was usually called Nick.

When he reached home, the doctor took him by the hand. “My son, you gave us a very great pleasure this afternoon. Jean is in the kitchen all ready to cook your beefsteak.”

He went on out to the kitchen to be purified of the lingering pike. She led him at once to the storeroom, and pointed out a fine display of stuff, including green peas and a whitefish.

“Wasn’t he wonderful?”

“Who?”

“The Little Pine. See this love-letter tied to the bottle of olive oil. It calls me heart-berries and bee-maple-syrup, in other words strawberries and honey.”

Marvin sighed with envy and held out his hand. She began his ablution and confided more misinformation.

“He must have met Mr. Gillies, who was on the lookout for somebody going up. And when Mr. Gillies handed him the money he handed it right back. That made Mr. Gillies remember the potatoes.”

At supper he made no reference to the adventures of the afternoon, and nobody made a reference to those of the morning. Evidently the doctor had not heard about the cave. Yet there seemed to be plenty of things to talk about, and even after the dishes were washed they all lingered a while by the fireside. Gradually silence descended on them—not sullen silence or indifferent silence, but the silence of a happy family wholesomely tired out.

So came the end of his second perfect day, that had so narrowly missed being his last on earth. Again he rowed to his island and again he was soothed to sleep by Ariel in the pine tree.

But when morning came and the sun on the khaki above him made him feel like an insect in amber, he began to define the issue. He must broach the subject of business pretty soon.

Which should he ask for first, herself or the island? She already knew that he loved her and had told him that he must not speak of such matters. That was very shy and nice in her, but it was no serious obstacle. The danger was that being so unused to business she might fancy him trying to bribe her. He would take the day off and think about it.

He spent most of the day wandering in the woods, and discovered that Dr. Rich’s possessions constituted a little peninsula bounded on the west by an inlet, and that several deer lurked in it. One was drinking from a fire-ditch of running water which was meant to protect the pines if a fire ever jumped the creek. He heard what he thought was a deer along the shore, and found it was only the lovely Sempronia, and drove her back to the peninsula where she belonged. The cow wore no bell, but he understood why; the doctor did not like the sound of bells. Probably he did not like the sound of launches on the river, and quite certainly he would not like the sound of TNT if Chase Mahan took a notion to make carborundum out of the Duckling!

It was this thought which finally decided his next step. He must make sure of his future wife, no matter what happened to her property. He walked back to her dwelling, rowed across to his own, and spent an hour in literary composition, using her totem for a lap-board.

That evening came the whitefish supper which he had provided for. He hit the doctor just right with that delicacy. He was not informed that they had not eaten whitefish in four years, but he was told the Indian name and all the legends about attik-u-maig, the reindeer of the water.

The doctor was so grateful for this sort of venison, and so appreciative of the way his daughter had broiled it, that after supper he locked them both out of the kitchen and washed the dishes himself. They could hear the clink of china beneath his scholarly fingers, as if he were playing an accompaniment to the song he was humming, about love divine, all love excelling.

“Miss Jean, there are some business matters that I’d like to talk over with you, if you are not too tired.”

“I’m not a bit tired, but I’m afraid you won’t stick to business,”

“I will. If necessary I will use the word business in every sentence.”

Jean thought a moment and then rapped on the kitchen door.

“Daddy, dear, Mr. Mahan thinks he wants my opinion on some of his business affairs. Shall I take him down to the Tarpeian?”

The song ceased. “So do, my girl, and if he doesn’t behave himself, throw him over.”

Jean went to her room and drew on her new sweater. Then she led the way down and sprang up before he could assist her. In fact he was not trying to assist her, for his courage had failed.