supper in dories, taking a small char- 

 coal furnace, a griddle and a pitcher of 

 batter, and rowing down to some great 

 flat sheets of rock made for the purpose 

 on the Point. There we pulled up the 

 boats, set up housekeeping and fried our 

 flapjacks, first waiting to enjoy the sun- 

 set over the western shore reflected in 

 the harbor. (If you stay in the house 

 the sun always sets while you are at 

 supper, if you notice ; and this is nature's 

 revenge on you for eating indoors in- 

 stead of out-of-doors, like Christians.) 

 Then we rowed home by moonlight or 

 perhaps by starlight, pausing to amuse 

 ourselves by stamping on the bottom of 

 the boat, startling the fish under us and 

 making them dart, leaving a phosphor- 

 escent wake far below. 



If a thunder-shower surprised us, we 

 rolled the boats over and crept under, 

 the valued shear allowed plenty of air 

 It is true, if the shower lasted too long, 

 the water was apt to run down the rock 

 and leave somebody in a puddle, while it 

 might become painful to take too per- 

 fect an impression of the pattern of the 

 rock on one elbow, but it's worth get- 

 ting wet to cross the harbor in the rain 

 with the drops hissing in the water and 

 turning to pale fire wherever they strike. 



The dory is a stiff little craft, too, not 

 easily upset, as some of our party proved 

 at the beach one day. Half-a-dozen of 

 them embarked in bathing dresses and 

 when beyond their depth stood up on the 

 seats and rocked with all their might; 

 but this not effecting their purpose, the 

 girls jumped out and the two or three 

 men left danced on the gunwale and 

 finally overturned it. 



One starlight evening two of us, es- 

 caping from the heat in town, were float- 

 ing close inshore somewhere down near 

 Black Bess, when suddenly out of the 

 darkness arose the sound of a sailboat 

 bearing down on us full tilt. We sprang 

 up in dismay, though it was dead calm 



and we knew no boat could come where 

 we were. We peered into the darkness, 

 but nothing came and the sound died 

 as it sprung into being, full grown, 

 without crescendo and without diminu- 

 endo. There was no splashing, either; 

 just the full, steady rip of the cutwater 

 at speed. It lasted perhaps a minute, 

 and was a startling affair. Experienced 

 persons say they never heard anything: 

 like it, and suggest sharks. Peopl'e al- 

 ways suggest that — what can you expect 

 after Lyell said shark to our family pet, 

 "the sea-serpent," which our own grand- 

 parents saw in 1817 from such a coign 

 of vantage that if it had been a shark, 

 one would think they would have known 

 it. We all know the place where they 

 were driving ''along the edge of a cliff — 

 when he saw the sea-serpent at the base 

 — on the white beach where there was 

 not more than six or seven feet of 

 water; and giving the reins to his wife, 

 looked down upon the creature, and 

 made up his mind that it was ninety 

 feet long. He then took his wife to the 

 spot, and she said it was as long as their 

 wharf, and this measured one hundred 

 feet. While they were looking down on 

 it, the creature appeared to be alarmed, 

 and started off." (LyelFs Diary.) This 

 is an incredulous world. 



Does anyone ever read "The Toilers 

 of the Sea" nowadays, or remember the 

 finale? Having purposely allowed the 

 tide to catch him, the hero sits in a niche 

 in the cliff awaiting death, with his eye 

 on the ship which bears away his be- 

 loved, who has married the wrong man. 

 And as the ship drops behind the hori- 

 zon, the water covers his eyes — when we 

 read that, with one accord we made for 

 the beach, and as soon as the tide served 

 round a big ledge, we practiced that 

 scene, and found it unimpressive. As 

 we expected, you float off : you can't stay 

 there ! and we thought Victor Hugo 

 should really have practiced it himself. 

 Helen Mansfield. 



55 



