Garth clung to his uncle in sober ecstasy.

"How could you think of such a wonderful, wonderful thing to give me!" he whispered. "And you painted it all for me. My own ship, the one I've always wanted. I didn't know I'd ever see a picture of her. But that's not just a picture. It's—it's her! Oh, Fogger, if I can have her in my room in town, it will help—lots."

Outside the window purple twilight deepened. In the fading light Garth's ship grew more gently ethereal. She loomed half seen out of the dusk, her shadowy sails filled with an unfelt breeze, her brave bows cleaving a soundless sea. And above, in splendid loneliness, Silver Shoal reached out its protecting arms of light and folded the world's rim with its radiance.