1 88 ALONGSHORE iv 



than oneself has solved, has had occasion to solve, 

 or ever will solve them. If we were out in a boat 

 together, and had to hard up for our lives, what 

 would be the difference? Perhaps 01' Mussels 

 would find it easier to laugh, then, too. 



Besides, we who frequent the beach are all of 

 us beachcombers more or less, one way or another. 

 It is a habit one gets into, a vice — one of those 

 vices that cannot be eradicated without loss, because, 

 for the time of indulgence at all events, they 

 quicken life, and are therefore rooted in life itself. 

 Nor, on the beach, is that quickening a mere 

 illusion. It hardly seems as if the men who stand 

 there hour after hour, hands in pockets, are living 

 faster than they could otherwise do. Yet so it is. 

 To be absent for an hour is to miss something, or 

 the chance of something. A boat may be wanted. 

 A ship may make signals for some one to go out 

 to her. Fish may play up and seine be shot. A 

 change In the weather may pass unnoticed. The 

 tides are never to time, and want watching. 



'What time was it high water?' 



'Don' know. Wasn't out here.' 



'Oh! That's it, Is It? Do 'ee know what 

 time 'tis dinner?' 



'That there depends on the tide, don' it?' 



