SHADOWS 71 



elongated, but though the beginning was now a grey 

 blotch in the mud, the end w^as not. I might beat up 

 a little foam with the chain, and see below a giddy 

 dance or at least lively flourishes and swaying. Yet 

 there was something lacking — the end. But for that 

 very commonplace default did there not here exist a 

 very good beginning for another romance of the sea ? 



The phantom, born of light and limpid salt water 

 and iron into which rust had deeply gnawed, gave zest 

 to the pursuit of shadows. What is commoner under 

 the tropic sun ? The boat was now over the sand of 

 the steeply shelving beach, where the water takes the 

 tint of the chrysolite and creatures of fairy lightness 

 come into view. Often on still days small sea-spiders 

 sport under the lea of the boat, each of the eight legs 

 supported by a bubble. With astonishing nimbleness, 

 the spider slips and glides over the surface as a man in 

 laborious snow-shoes over the snow. Having basked 

 in the sun and frolicked with its kind, the spider aban- 

 dons its pads, takes to its hairy bosom a bubble of air, 

 and dives below. The shadows, not the spiders alone, 

 gave pleasing entertainment. Each vague shadow and 

 the eight bubble-shod feet formed a broochlike ornament 

 on the yellow sand — a grey jewel surrounded by dia- 

 monds, for every bubble acted as a lens concentrating 

 the light. Wlien the frail creatures darted hither and 

 thither — the majestic sun does not disdain to lend his 

 brilliance to the most prosaic of happenings — the 

 shadows of the bubbles became jewels or daylight 

 lightnings. The hour was so restful, the light so search- 

 ing, that many of the spiders, long of leg and pearly- 

 grey of body, gathered about the boat, the shade of 

 which seemed to be grateful. A w^ave of the hand 

 dispersed the gay assemblage, but in a few seconds the 

 playful creatures — not too easily to be deprived of their 



