"Very," replied Margy.
"Wish I'd had the fish. Sold all my catch except the cod Marthy's cookin'."
Margy sniffed appreciatively. "A chowder?" she inquired.
Joe nodded. "About the only way to cook a cod. Goin' to have yourn cooked that way?"
"It isn't for us," explained Margy. "My brother is trying to find some really fresh fish for an old lady who is ill.
My brother is a Dr.. He has just been to see her. She wanted fresh fish, and he said he would try to find some.
Their servants are all busy because they are closing the house. They are going to sail for Europe to-morrow."
"What house?" inquired Joe, eagerly.
"The very large house on the ocean side of the road, about half a mile back."
"The one with all them yaller flowers in the front yard, and a garden of 'em on the roof, with vines hangin'
over?"
Margy nodded. "That sounds like it," said she. "There are two square towers, one on each side, then the
flowers and vines are on the balcony between; and there is a roof-garden, too; and there are quantities of
beautiful flowers on the grounds. It is a lovely place."
"Know the name of the folks that live there?"
"Willard," replied Margy. She eyed Joe with surprise.
"Lord!" said he. "They goin' away so soon?"
He paid no more attention to Margy, but limped into the house, and the girl heard loud exclamations. Then
she saw Tom coming with a fine glistening fish in each hand.
"I have one for us, too," he said as he got into the car. "They are fine fish."
Tom put on power, as he wished not only to deliver the fish to the Willards fresh, but to reach home with his
own in good condition, and it was a scorching day. Margy clung to her side of the car as they spun along.
After the fish had been left at the grand Willard house, and a beautiful young lady in a pale-blue gown had
thanked the young Dr. charmingly, and they were on a smooth road, Margy asked Tom why he thought the
lame man, of whom he had inquired about the fish, had been so interested in the Willard family.
"Oh, probably he is one of the old residents here. I discovered some time ago that they feel a queer interest in
the comings and goings of the summer folk," said Tom. "Their lives are pretty narrow eight months of the
year. They have to be interested in something outside themselves. I think lots of them have a feeling that they
own a good deal that they only have liberty to look at."
"I can see how a fisherman can feel that he owns the sea," said Margy. "Maybe it is because so many of them
are fishermen."
She looked reflective with her deep-set blue eyes. Tom cast a quick glance at her. "Maybe," he said.
Tom was not imaginative. When Margy said things like that he always wondered if she were well. He began
to plan a prescription for her as they sped along.