1 70 "Dead Trees Love the Fire" 



I should think he would enjoy making eel-pots, 

 for the work has a certain fascination about it 

 this weaving together of strong, supple twigs 

 of oak, the converting of an old log into hun- 

 dreds of pots that will do duty for years. 

 Every day the Cap'n can feel that he has pro- 

 duced something of value, which is more than 

 a great many more pretentious people I know 

 of can say. Down comes the sail, and while 

 the boys tie it up and make the ropes ship- 

 shape for the night, we gather up our traps and 

 start for the house, leaving the Cap'n deep in 

 thought, as he squints first at the horizon and 

 then at our little pile of logs. Even twelve 

 hours of open air have not quite satisfied me, 

 and were it not for several letters to write and 

 a good many proof-sheets to read, I should 

 like to join the Cap'n in a tour of his eel-pots. 

 There is no wind, so that the bay reflects every 

 star as it peeps out, and away down in the 

 southwest we catch a gleam from the Fire 

 Island Light. 



