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At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away.

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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 08-05-2024 18:31:20

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