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It flew northward, away for the headland, for a hundred yards or so; and then by some mischance let slip his prey, which fell back into the sea. The boy saw the splash. To his surprise the bird made no effort to recover the fish neither stooped nor paused but went winging sullenly on its way. "That's the way o' them," commented the old wreck-picker. "Good food, an' to let it go.
The wreck-picker broke off a piece of the pasty and wrapped it in a handkerchief and memory recalled, as with a small shock of surprise, that the handkerchief was clean. The old man, though ragged enough to scare the crows, was clean from his bare head to his bare sea-bleached feet. He munched the rest of the pasty, talking between mouthfuls.
The child within it could hear nothing of this conversation; but to the end of his life his memory kept vivid the scene and the two figures in it his father, in close-fitting riding-coat of blue, with body braced, leaning sideways a little against the wind, and a characteristic hint of the cavalryman about the slope of the thigh; the old wreck-picker standing just forward of the bay's shoulder and looking up, with blown hair and patient eyes.
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