116 THE JERSEY COAST. 
crowded ranks to our delighted gaze. From the 
very clouds, would come the shrill whistle of the 
yelper, or from the horizon, the long shriek of the 
willet, or nearer at hand would be heard the plain- 
tive note of the gentle dowitcher; they appeared 
from all quarters, sailing low along the water or 
pitching directly down from out the sky. 
Towards evening the flight diminished, and when 
the horn announced that supper was ready, the dif- 
ferent parties met once more at the house to compare 
notes and relate adventures. All had met with 
excellent success, but our stand carried: off the palm. 
‘* Bill,” commenced some unhappy person, after 
we had left the close, hot dining-room, “‘ why do you 
not enlarge your house ?” 
“Bill is waiting for another wreck,” was the 
volunteer response ; “ the whole coast is fed, clothed, 
and sheltered by the wrecks. The house is built 
from the remnants of unfortunate ships, as you per- 
ceive by the name-boards of the Arion, Pilgrim, 
Samuel Willets, J. Harthorn, and Johanna, that form 
so conspicuous a part of the front under the porch. 
When a vessel is driven ashore, and the’ crew and 
passengers who are not quite dead are disposed of 
by the aid of a stone in the corner of a handkerchief, 
which makes an unsuspicious bruise, the prize is 
fought for by the natives, and not only the cargo, 
but the very ribs and planks of the vessel appro- 
priated.” 
‘“‘ Now that’s not fair,” replied Bill, aroused; “no 
man, except my father-in-law, has done more to save 
eee 
