AS FANCY FLIES 



MY neighbor has a funny weathercock in the guise of 

 a jaunty sailorman who balances the year around 

 on a frigate sailing without making a single port in the 

 skyey seas above the gable of an old barn. If it were not 

 for the gallant sailorman breasting the gales with never a 

 shadow of doubt of winds that blow, hasting in the teeth 

 of the storm with the defiant courage of a Flying Dutch- 

 man, the outlook from that home window would be 

 grievous to the artistic eye. The little sailorman saves 

 the day, shaping a world of his own for the imagination. 



Often in August a morning-glory vine climbs from the 

 hidden garden below to deck his ship with flowers, while 

 a scarlet runner creeps along the ridgepole to lay its blos- 

 soms at his feet. In autumn a bittersweet lifts its berries 

 temptingly above the shingles, as if trying to lure him 

 from his course, and all summer the birds, paying for 

 lodging in melody, rest in their flight upon his decks. 



At last, when winter snowdrifts heap about the lonely 



figure, he is left in solitude to steer with the wind; and 



those with books before the fireplace, who look forth to 



take his signals, bless the little sailorman as an eye-trap 



65 



