He did not know how intensely Margy had felt that she owned the sea, just from looking at it, when she had
sat in the car waiting for him when he was making professional calls, and that her reasoning was quite logical
and not unnecessarily imaginative. If she considered that she owned the sea, which is the vast untaxed asset of
the world, how much more would the fisherman who got his daily bread from it?
Meantime, the fisherman with whom she had talked was in excited colloquy with his wife in the kitchen and
living-room of the little house. The room, though comfortable and clean, was poorly equipped, with the
exception of various articles that were at direct odds with all else. There was a cooking-stove, on which the
chowder was steaming. There was a kitchen table, set for a meal with the commonest utensils, save that in the
center, ready for the chowder, was a bowl of old Japanese pottery which would have adorned a palace. Martha
did not think much of this bowl, which Joe had brought home from one of his voyages. She considered the
decorations ugly, and used it to save a lovely one from the ten-cent store, decorated with pink rosebuds.
Martha could understand pink rosebuds, but she could not fathom dragons and ugly, grinning faces of Oriental
fancy.
There was a lounge with a hideous cover, two old chairs worn into hollows of comfort, two kitchen chairs, an
old clock, and a superb teak-wood table. Martha did not care for that, either. The contortions of the carved
wood gave her a vague uneasiness. She kept it covered with an old fringed spread, and used to set her bread to
rise on it. On the mantel, besides the clock and three kerosene-lamps, was a beautiful old Satsuma vase, and a
pressed glass one, which Martha loved. The glass one was cracked, and she told Joe she did not see why the
other vase could not have suffered instead. Joe agreed with her. He did not care much for the treasures which
he had brought from foreign ports, except the shells -- lovely, pinked-lipped ones that were crowded on the
shelf between the other things, and completely filled more shelves which Joe had made expressly to hold
them. The shelves were in three tiers, and the shells were mounted on them, catching the light from broken
surfaces of rose and pearl and silver. Martha privately considered that the shells involved considerable work.
She washed them carefully, and kept them free from dust, but she also admired them.
In front of the outer door was a fine old prayer-rug of dull, exquisite tones. Martha kept it there for Joe to wipe
his feet on, because it was so faded, but she had a bright red one in the center of the room. Joe never stepped
on that until his shoes were entirely clean. He had made quite sure there was not a speck of dust to injure this
brilliant rug before he entered to give Martha the intelligence.
"They are goin' away from Our House to-morrow," said he.
Martha, standing over the chowder, turned, spoon in hand. She waved the spoon as if it were a fan. "Before
the carnival?" said she.
Martha was a small, wide-eyed woman with sleek hair. She was not pretty, but had a certain effect of being
exactly in place which gave the impression of prettiness to some people.
"They are goin' to sail for Europe," said Joe.
"I suppose for His health," said Martha. Nobody could excel the air of perfect proprietorship with which she
uttered the masculine pronoun. The man indicated might have been her own father, or her brother, or her son.
"I guess so," said Joe. "He has looked pooty bad lately when I've seen him."
"I suppose They are goin'?"
"I s'pose so, because they are closin' the house. That young Dr. from the Center stopped out here just now, and
wanted to know where he could get fresh fish, and I told him I guessed Mac had some left; and whilst he was
gone his sister -- she was with him -- told me they were closin' the house, and Old Lady Willard wanted fresh