determination was qualities left out of him. Well, he's gone, an' Marcia's well rid of him. For 'most three years now, she's been her own mistress an' the feelin' that she is must be highly enjoyable."

"Poor Marcia," sighed Rebecca.

"Poor Marcia?" Abbie repeated. "Lucky Marcia, I say. 'Most likely she'd say so herself was she to speak the truth. She never would, though. Since the day she married, she's been close-mouthed as an oyster. What she thought of Jason, or didn't think of him, she's certainly kept to herself. Nobody in this village has ever heard her bewail her lot. She made her bargain an' poor as 'twas she stuck to it."

[9]

[9]

"S'pose she'll always go on livin' there on that deserted strip of sand?" speculated Rebecca. "Why, it's 'most an island. In fact, it is an island at high tide."

"So 'tis. An' Zenas Henry says it's gettin' to be more an' more so every minute," Abbie replied. "The tide runs through that channel swift as a race horse an' each day it cuts a wider path 'twixt Marcia an' the shore. Before long, she's goin' to be as completely cut off from the mainland at low water as at high."

"It must be a terrible lonely place."

"I wouldn't want to live there," shrugged the sociable Abbie. "But there's folks that don't seem to mind solitude, an' Marcia Howe's one of 'em. Mebbe, after the life she led with Jason, she kinder relishes bein' alone. 'Twould be no marvel if she did. Furthermore, dynamite couldn't blast her out of that old Daniels Homestead. Her father an' her grandfather were born there, an' the house is the apple of her eye. It is a fine old place if only it stood somewheres else. Of course, when it was built the ocean hadn't et away the beach, an' instead of bein' narrow, the Point was a wide, sightly piece of land. Who'd 'a' foreseen the tides would wash 'round it 'til they'd whittled it down to little more'n a sand bar, an' as good as detached it from the coast altogether?"

"Who'd 'a' foreseen lots of pranks the sea's[10] played? The Cape's a-swirl with shiftin' sands. They drift out here, they pile up there. What's terra firma today is swallered up tomorrow. Why, even Wilton Harbor's fillin' in so fast that 'fore we know it there won't be a channel deep enough to float a dory left us. We'll be land-locked."

[10]

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