XI 



Eight Bells 



THE ship's clock on the book- 

 shelves by the door has chimed 

 in admirably this evening with the 

 booming of the surf beating heavily 

 against the shore-line beyond the wil- 

 lows and the elms, and an old London 

 edition of Capt. Cook's South Sea 

 voyages has also fitted in well with the 

 big lake's voice. It was for just such 

 occasions that I desired the ship clock's 

 congenial company. It will soon sound 

 the eight bells that will announce a 

 wintry midnight, and the barometer 

 by its side explains the bellowing up- 

 roar on the waterfront. 



The boy who was always seeing 

 things in dumb walls and all sorts of 



