214 OVER ON THE ISLAND "Gu-day!" I sat up again. There is something about being alone and travelling alone. You really meet people. The venerable Micmac sat down. We discussed the weather, the Island, where I came from, and why . . . "I like your ring," he remarked. "What is it?" "Silver," I replied briefly. "Are you married?" he inquired. Again! "No." "You are about eighteen or twenty?" "About that . . .!" "And you're not married. Well, well. You're too young anyway, and when you get married get a good man. Don't get married until you are thirty or thirty-five. There's few of them left . . .," he went on glumly. "Of what?" "Good men." "I'm not interested in marriage just at present," I advised him. "Have a sandwich?" "Thanks ..." "Have another?" "Thanks." "You'll get lonesome if you don't marry," he confided. "I'll consider the matter carefully." He waded out into the water. " Do you like oysters?" "Rather!" "Got a knife?" "No."