86 SUMMER 



so strange the talk of the wind on the rock, the 

 sweep of the storm, the lap of the waves, the rum- 

 bling mutter of the wakeful caverns, the cry of birds, 

 the hoarse grumbling growl of the sea-lions swim- 

 ming close below. 



The clamor of the birds was at first disturbing. 

 But soon the confusion caused by our descent among 

 them subsided ; the large colony of murres close by 

 our heads returned to their rookery ; and with the 

 rain and thickening dark there spread everywhere the 

 quiet of a low murmurous quacking. Sleep was set- 

 tling over the rookeries. 



Down in the sea below us rose the head of an old 

 sea-lion, the old lone bull whose den we had invaded. 

 He was coming back to sleep. He rose and sank, 

 blinking dully at the cask we had left on his ledge ; 

 then clambered out and hitched slowly up toward 

 his sleeping-place. I counted the scars on his head, 

 and noted the fresh deep gash on his right side. I 

 could hear him blow and breathe. 



I drew back from the edge, and, pulling the piece 

 of sail-cloth over me and the small boy at my side, 

 turned my face up to the slanting rain. Two young 

 gulls came out of their hiding in a cranny and nestled 

 against my head, their parents calling gently to them 

 from time to time all night long. In the murre col- 

 ony overhead there was a constant stir and a soft, low 

 talk, and over all the rock, through all the darkened 

 air there was a silent coming and going of wings 



