Profound relief appeared upon his countenance.  I am discovering that in Sweetapple Cove one must limit one’s vocabulary.  The old man would probably not appreciate chocolates, but he deserves them.

We were dashing on, at a safe distance from the rocks, and suddenly there was an opening in the cliffs, with a tiny bay within.  Yves pulled in the sheets a little and we sailed into the deep, clear water of the tiny cove.

There was a small beach of rolling shingle and, beyond this, clinging like barnacles to the rocky hillside, were a couple of decrepit houses.  Some big flakes and a fish-house were built over the water, on spidery legs.  A few children, very stolid of face and unkempt, watched our arrival and stared at me.  A man, in half-bared arms dotted about the wrists with remnants of what they call gurry-sores, stood at the water’s edge, waiting to lend a hand.  There appears to be no anchorage in this deep hole.  The sails were quickly wrapped around the masts and our forefoot gently grated against the pebbles.  Then all the men jumped out and dragged the boat up, using some rollers.

“She’ll do now,” announced Sammy.  “Tide’s on the ebb, anyways.”

There was no lack of hands to help me jump out on the little beach.  Frenchy’s small boy had clambered out like a monkey and, like myself, was an object of silent curiosity to the local urchins.  The scent of fish prevailed, of course, but it was less pronounced than at Sweetapple Cove, very probably for the unfortunate reason that very few fish had been caught, of late.  Indeed, it was a fine drying day and yet the poor flakes were nearly bare.

“Bring up the barrel, Sammy,” said the doctor.  “I’m going up to the house.  I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting very long, Miss Jelliffe.”

He hastened up, scrambling up the rocky path, and entered the house.  I followed him, perhaps rather indiscreetly.  This queer atmosphere of poverty had affected me, I think, and I suddenly became eager to see whether I could not be of some help.

A woman had met him at the door, with an effort at a smile upon her thin, seamed face, that was pale with scanty food and haggard from long watching at night.

“Un do be sayin’ as th’ arm be better a lot,” she informed him.  Then she stared at me, just for a moment, and smiled again.

“That’s fine,” said the doctor.  “We’ll have another look at it directly.  You can come in if you wish to, Miss Jelliffe.”

There was nothing but just one fairly large room.  The patient was lying on a bed built of planks and his right arm was resting on a pillow, wrapped up in an enormous dressing.

“You sure is a sight fer sore eyes ter see,” said the man.

“I hope I’m one for sore arms too,” said the doctor, cheerfully.  Then he turned to me.

“It would perhaps be best for you to leave for a few minutes, Miss Jelliffe,” he said.  “It won’t take long.”