OH, SHOOT! 



up on the bar and the boat bumped until our 

 teeth rattled. We were several miles offshore, 

 without any sort of skiff; it began to look as 

 if we had about run out of luck and might 

 have to hunt standing room somewhere in the 

 surf. However, a yacht had made in near by 

 on the day before, and, thanks to our search- 

 light, we managed to get a rise out of her. 

 She sent a launch off, and it finally towed us 

 back to shelter. 



By this time it was midnight and the duties 

 of host rested heavily upon me. I could with 

 difficulty meet the accusing eyes of my guests, 

 and, although I had exhausted my conversa- 

 tional powers, I hung close to them for fear of 

 the cutting, unkind things they would say if 

 I left them alone. 



The next morning, Mr. Scott, owner of the 

 neighboring yacht, prompted by true sports- 

 man's courtesy, towed us back to Ocracoke, 

 and as we went plunging down the sound in a 

 cloud of spray we realized that the weather 

 had hardened up and the birds were beginning 

 to fly. The sky was full of them; we could 

 hear the noise of many guns a sound that 

 brought scalding tears to our eyes. 



I simply could not bear to leave just as the 

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