Captain Jim glanced appreciatively at the little room where Owen Ford worked with feverish enthusiasm, looking every now and then, for inspiration, out of the open window, where the sea glittered as deep a mysterious, alluring blue as Leslie Moore's eyes were. On the narrow table were spread notebooks and yellowish paper, as well as several fountain pens and pencils. And in spite of their many rambling conversations, Owen Ford had remained firm, as he had said with a faint smile in his bright eyes, " Dearest Jim. What I get from our conversations, and from your presence, is more precious than fairy gold. And this manuscript is the result of our collaboration."

The sun's rays shimmered on the surface of the water, Owen perceived that Captain Jim was making tea again, but that perception was distant, like a distant sound, somewhere there was the screeching of a seagull, and Owen tied that soundscape to the scene he had written. As usual , the daily morning hours spent on this project flew by, and the golden yellow light rose from the ground, Owen rubbed his wrist and put the manuscript aside, neatly stacked the notebooks, and put them in his bag. where he carefully placed the manuscript.

From the inner room came the soft purr of First Mate, and Captain Jim looked up from the net he had been mending, and said, in his simple but profoundly wise manner, " Well, lad o mine, sit down a moment, and have some tea, as I have something to show you."

Owen watched with attentive eyes, holding in his hand a mug of excellent tea, strong and sweet, as Captain Jim opened one of the side cupboard drawers and took out a narrow, worn wooden box, after blowing the dust from the lid, he opened it and nodded once with satisfaction.

Captain Jim handed the box to Owen, his eyes softened by the memories. He put his gnarled, life-seen, broad hands on his knees and said, "Open it."

Now very curious Owen did as requested. An amber necklace was revealed from the box. The warm, translucent tawny and honey-hued pieces of amber glistened brilliantly in the warm light.

Captain Jim, quietly remarked, "Margaret, she loved that shade, for it suited her colors so well. I gathered every one of these pieces myself, from the shores of different seas, as they happened before me, but I did not have time to give this to her, for the sea had already taken her from me."

There was an echo of past loss in the captain's voice that had already turned into a blessing, and Owen's throat choked with emotion as he looked at the necklace - it was a promise of the eternal, faithful, undying love this young sailor as he had been then, had felt for the fairy-faced, light brown haired shore-girl whose laughter had been bubbling, and character rich in many shades.

Owen was startled, for it was as if he saw them, two figures, standing side by side, on the ruddy rocks, with the waves crashing below. Captain Jim, gallant and upright, in his striped sweater, and beside him in a off-the in a shoulder dress with a practical cut that looked like it had been tea-dyed, was Margaret. On her arms was a colorful shawl, and Owen saw Margaret turn and glance in Owen's direction. That look was firm and warm, and a small mischievously charming smile came to her red lips as sweetly Margaret exclaimed, "Dearest Jim, let's run a little. Today the salt of the sea is almost palpable."

Owen shuddered, and then the vision, or whatever it had been, disappeared.

Captain Jim glanced intently, silently at the suddenly stiffened Owen Ford. There had been a fixed look in the young man's eyes that had somewhat resembled the look in John Selwyn's eyes that night on the beach.

From the window, from the direction of the path, there was a bright laugh, silvery and golden bright, there Mistress Blythe and Leslie arrived. Captain Jim noticed how Owen Ford turned eagerly and automatically towards the window, as Leslie's voice was momentarily clearly resonant like sweet honey, "Anne look at that ray of sunlight reflected in the window, doesn't that remind you of something?"

Captain Jim said in a thoughtful voice, "I've been thinking that this summer I'd spend more time with Dick Moore, sailing away, after our mornings of course, for the old saltbeards are whispering about quite a catch on the other side of the sandbars."

Hearing Captain Jim's words, Owen had a hard time hiding the excitement the thought had stirred in him, but he managed it, barely.

Captain Jim stroked the First Mate, as he said gently, "Anne, and Leslie, welcome, you bring with you all the youth and freshness here and it soothes my soul verra much to see it. There is tea to be had."

One early morning, near dawn Leslie stood in the harbor watching the boat with Dick and Captain Jim get smaller and smaller. And as the days went by, Dick's face turned bronze and he did his usual chores at the Moore farm, with a calmer mind as Capitain Jim entertained him, in his usual flair, as Leslie roamed with Anne, as her time was her own.

At times, Owen would discuss his day's work in the garden of the House of Dreams, among the flowers. Anne glanced at Leslie, who had been sitting quietly for quite some time, as Anne and Owen had been exchanging lively opinions on some parts. Her expression was thoughtful. And impulsively, Anne wrapped her arms around Leslie's proud shoulders, pressed close and whispered, in her ear coaxingly, "Leslie, tell me what you think."

Leslie smiled and remarked, "What you've come up with here would work, but I think it would be worth thinking about the themes and tying each adventure together even more closely with Lost Margaret, now it seems a little disjointed, that would also add romantic idyll to the narrative."

Owen looked at Leslie in surprise and nodded, hastily opening his notebook and writing a few lines with an almost broken pencil.

Many happy moments were spent in those summer days and evenings in the environs of Four Winds - all over, sandbars. They many evening feasted with crabs, clams and other sea-treasures, and in the woods, amid the scent of wild flowers and wild strawberries, in the sound of the stream gently bubbling away, there were lively discussions of a pair of kindredspirits, that had come together. Leslie was walking by Anne's side, Leslie felt a distinctly strange intoxication.

The lush, beautiful nature was suddenly like something completely new. Anne's cheerful, understanding company, the calmness of the summer evenings, the quiet poetry of the sand and everlasting hum of sea.

Leslie saw Anne glance in her direction once, that look was gentle, as Anne's hand wrapped around Leslie's fingers, as she murmured, "How beautiful it is here. Listen to the nightingale."

The wind was gentle and the evenings balmy sweet, and turning towards cross-roads that ended to Moore house in the twilight, when one jamboree on the rocky shores was over. Owen Ford's steps were sure as he remarked, "It was pleasant to watch your argument with Gilbert before Leslie. I think you beat even Gilbert. Anne can see life versatility with astonishing precision."

Leslie smiled softly as she replied in a mildly demure tone, "I was just saying my opinion, I've tried to follow the current issues, as best I can."

Owen's laugh was extremely delighted as he replied, with a keen glance towards Leslie, "Well, I've heard similar arguments in newsrooms of various editors, but never before so clearly presented."

Summer twilight had cast a shadow over Moore's house, and laughing Leslie entered that house where she had never experienced joy, as if by chance Owen's hand brushed her waist, that touch was light, fleeting, but still Leslie tossed and turned in her bed, as in her mind were circling Owen's warm words, "Thank you for today Mrs. Moore, or Leslie. I'm going fishing with Captain Jim tomorrow after I get my writing done for the day, so I'm not here to bother you if you want some time to yourself."