had poured out, his interest, for the time, became merely polite. And his host, though helping himself rather freely from the fat-bellied bottle, was calmly distant in his own thoughts.
"Do you come here every summer, Mr. Powell?" asked Hugh, after an interval.
The sad, prophetic eyes returned to the present, and as they studied the young man anew, their melancholy look was modified by a smile that was essentially kind.
"Every summer?" the little man repeated. " My boy, we live here all the year round, and have lived here since—for the last fourteen years. You look astonished. But why is not this island as good to live and die on as the mainland? They send us over clothing, and food, and books. You see for yourself how comfortable"—and he waved his hand about.
"And your daughter is always with you here?" asked the visitor, amazed at this new aspect of the case.
"Yes, indeed—like the best of daughters," was the calm reply.
