lantern, glassed all around. Â A metal smokestack and a wire handle protruded from the top. Â The thing was meant to be carriedâbut it was two feet high at least. Â What on earth was it for? Â Whoever built the lantern and the boat had a particular purpose in mind.
A shadow fell on the cedar hull.  Sam turned to find Anna, a plate of biscuits in her hand.  âI saw the door to Fatherâs workshop openâ¦â she began. Â
âIâm sorry, I was looking for lumber, andâ¦â
She interrupted him gently. âNo need to apologize, Mr. Dreher. Â Are you hungry?â Â
âA sailor is always hungry,â he replied. Â She set the plate on the workbench. Â
âFor you, then.â Â He took a biscuit. Â It was still hot, and smelled of fresh butter. Â
âBless you, Miss Daisey,â he said, devouring it quickly. Â Anna laughed. Â
âThe United States Navy doesnât feed its carpenters?â
âNot like this, Miss Daisey.â Â Â Anna brought an empty cask from underneath the workbench and then pulled out the wooden stool. Â
âSit down,â she said. Â They sat in silence. It was warm in the little building, and for Sam, warmer now. Â
âThis was your fatherâs workshop, then?â he asked. Â
âIt was.â
âAnd this boat?â
âAlso his.â
âWhat work did he do, Miss Daisey?â
Silence again. Â He was afraid that the question was a poor one.
âWhat did Reverend Carter tell you about my father, Mr. Dreher?â
âHe told me very little, Miss Daisey; only that you lost him some time ago,â he replied. âI am sorry.â Â She looked him straight in the eyes, measuring the sincerity of his words. Â Her gaze shifted slowly to the boat. Â She stood, resting her hands on the dusty hull. Â Her fingers, long and slim like her motherâs, moved to the gap left by the shattered planks. Â The cuff of white eyelet at her sleeve caught on a splinter, and she shook it loose. Â
âFather was a market gunner,â she told him. Â His face told her that the words held no meaning for him. Â Â âHe hunted ducks and geese for the market.â Â She indicated the decoys in the rafters. âThese were the things he used.â Â Sam began to make sense of it: Mary Daisey, a young widow; this broken small boat; the market gunner. Â Annaâs father had been killed suddenly, thenâan accident. Â
âPlease show me,â he asked. Â
âWait here,â she said, leaving him.
Anna returned with an oilcloth pouch tucked under her arm. Â Carefully, she laid it on the workbench, untying the cord and opening the oilcloth to reveal a stack of drawings, each a different size. Â
âThis was my father,â she said. Â She brought out a pencil drawing of a young man with a mustache. Â He recognized it as a copy of the photograph in Mary Daiseyâs workroom. Â It was remarkably well done. Â
âDid you draw this, Miss Daisey?â Â She nodded. Â He was astonished. Â No one he knew could make drawings such as this. Â She placed the sketch carefully behind the others in the bundle, revealing a scene of a man with a knife in his hand, carving a smooth, oval block of wood. Â The man in this sketch resembled the other picture above the mantel, older and more somber. Â Â
â He carved the decoys he used,â she explained. Â âHere in the workshop, in good weather, or in the kitchen, where my brother works now. All the market gunners do, but his were more beautiful.â Â
She stood and stepped onto the cask, reaching into a familiar nook of the rafters for a particular decoy and handing it to Sam. Â It was a canvasback drake. Â Its russet-red head had been shaped to a soft peak by a practiced hand. Â The bill with its delicate nostrils seemed ready to open; its