48 BRUNO 



out first tasting it very gingerly, then waiting 

 a few seconds to make sure of the after-taste. 

 But if he objected to the taste of salt water, he 

 found no flaw in the feeling of it. 



There is no memory of him on which I so 

 much love to dwell as on the picture he made 

 with his tawny curls streaming backwards in 

 the breakers when we took him out to the beach. 

 The green-curling, foam-tipped waves were to 

 him a perfect delight. Even his dashing out in 

 our midst and shaking himself so that we were 

 all drenched in an impromptu shower-bath is 

 pleasant, as a memory, though at the time 

 we scolded him, and tried to respond sternly to 

 his waggish glances, as he gambolled about and 

 rolled in the sand. 



The salt water was new to all of us, so we 

 spent as much time as possible on the island 

 and the beaches. 



On those days when we were confined to the 

 mainland by showers, or by the business we 

 were attending to between times, we used to 

 go, towards evening, to promenade on the sea- 

 wall. Then Bruno always got down in one of 

 the basins for a swim before we returned to our 

 temporary home. 



Although it seemed like northern spring 



