Patrolling the Beach, 



out to the Cliff House at the close of 

 such a storm and walk down the long 

 beach-line toward the old Ocean House, 

 some miles to the southward. The sky 

 is still dark and angry looking, and the 

 wind comes sweeping up the beach and 

 out of the sea. The salt spray is blown 

 into our faces and the waves come 

 crashing in on the beach in mountains 

 of white, glittering spray, roaring and 

 thundering until the very sand under- 

 foot seems to tremble with the commo- 

 tion. Overhead a gull sails swiftly by 

 and vanishes in the mist like a storm- 

 blown fleck of foam. Not another 

 thing of life is visible. The grass 

 upon the sand-dunes is wet and bends 

 before the wind. The beach sand is 

 wet and sodden, and the moist clouds 

 hurry overhead. The beach is strewn 

 with brown, oozing strands of kelp, 

 with ribbons, whip-lashes and blad- 

 dery floats, all torn from their ocean 

 bed by the might of the storm. Jelly- 

 fish, limp and white, lie on the sand, 



54 



