cold winter, there was joy in the greeting the land held out, and in the

more versatile expression of the sea. And not beneath the contempt of

one who strives to get into everything, were the creases and patches of

the sails of smacks, and the pattern of the resin-wood they called their

masts, and even the little striped things (like frogs with hats on, in

the distance) which had grown to believe themselves the only object the

sun was made to shine upon.

But he shone upon the wide sea far behind, and the broad stretch of

land before them, and among their slowly gliding canvas scattered soft

touches of wandering light. Especially on the spritsail of the Rosalie,

whereunder was sitting, with the tiller in his hand and a very long pipe

in his mouth, Captain Zebedee Tugwell. His mighty legs were spread at

ease, his shoulders solid against a cask, his breast (like an elephant's

back in width, and bearing a bright blue crown tattooed) shone out of

the scarlet woolsey, whose plaits were filled with the golden shower of

a curly beard, untouched with gray. And his face was quite as worthy as

the substance leading up to it, being large and strengthful and slow to

move, though quick to make others do so. The forehead was heavy, and the

nose thickset, the lower jaw backed up the resolution of the other, and

the wide apart eyes, of a bright steel blue, were as steady as a brace

of pole-stars.

"What a wonderful man!" fair Dolly thought, as the great figure, looking

even grander in the glass, came rising upon a long slow wave--"what a

wonderful man that Tugwell is! So firmly resolved to have his own way,

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