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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Tides of Barnegat"

He had
been outside the inlet with Tod--since daybreak, in
fact--fishing for bass and weakfish.
Jane had been waiting for him for hours. She
held an open letter in her hand, and her face was
happier, Archie thought as he approached her, than
he had seen it for months.
There are times in all lives when suddenly and
without warning, those who have been growing
quietly by our side impress their new development
upon us. We look at them in full assurance that
the timid glance of the child will be returned, and
are astounded to find instead the calm gaze of the
man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering
step and touch a muscle that could lead a host.
Such changes are like the breaking of the dawn; so
gradual has been their coming that the full sun of
maturity is up and away flooding the world with
beauty and light before we can recall the degrees
by which it rose.
Jane realized this--and for the first time--as she
looked at Archie swinging through the gate, waving his
hat as he strode toward her. She saw that the sailor
had begun to assert itself. He walked with an easy
swing, his broad shoulders--almost as broad as the
captain's and twice as hard--thrown back, his head
up, his blue eyes and white teeth laughing out of a
face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his
throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief
--one of Tod's--wound loosely about it; a man
really, strong and tough, with hard sinews and capable
thighs, back, and wrists--the kind of sailorman
that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure
and never lose place in either station.


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