The Weakfish 129 



as calm and sweet-tempered as the tiny 

 marsh wren that swings on the frail grassy 

 stem at his feet, pouring out her evening 

 hymn. 



My companion stands on the sod banks 

 and casts his crab bait into the tide, the 

 green water now rushing in from the 

 ocean, on whose plain the bounding 

 whitecaps are made beautiful by the 

 background of dark sky and the sunlit 

 western heavens toward which they roll. 

 Soon the tide will creep over the sod and 

 flood the very island, but we shall not 

 suffer any inconvenience. The little 

 house rests high upon sturdy hardwood 

 posts, and I have gathered up the out- 

 door cooking utensils, staked the boat 

 safely, cut the salt hay for our beds, and 

 gathered the chip-wood for the breakfast 

 fire. 



"You must cast out farther in the chan- 

 nel, Doctor," I call to my old friend, "or 

 fish at the mouth of the little creek to 

 your right. The sea bass, fluke, and 



