still, and I do not fancy that any one will be up yet for several
hours."

He made no further attempt at conversation, devoting himself
entirely to the task of steering and propelling his clumsy craft
along the narrow way. She found herself watching him with some
curiosity. It had never occurred to her to doubt at first but that
he was some fisherman from the village, for he wore a rough jersey
and a pair of trousers tucked into sea-boots. His face was bronzed,
and his hands were large and brown. Nevertheless she saw that his
features were good, and his voice, though he spoke the dialect of
the country, had about it some quality which she was not slow to
recognize.

"Who are you?" she asked, a little curiously. "Do you live in the
village?"

He looked down at her with a faint smile.

"I live in the village," he answered, "and my name is Andrew."

"Are you a fisherman?" she asked.

"Certainly," he answered gravely. "We are all fishermen here."

She was not altogether satisfied. He spoke to her easily, and
without any sort of embarrassment. His words were civil enough, and
yet he had more the air of one addressing an equal than a villager
who is able to be of service to some one in an altogether different
social sphere.