Robin Hood's Barn 



nous and brooding, the running dash and foam of 

 heavy seas. With desperation to her leeward 

 tack and slanting masts, a boat was speeding, 

 small, defenseless, towards the skyline. And 

 overhauhng her, a brig had set its sails full to the 

 gale and had clapped upon its mizzen-mast an 

 ugly flag. There was no question but the sketch 

 was done with cruelty and gusto. Yet in one 

 corner in the pettifogging way I have, I noticed 

 something not quite congruoxis. By 1724, my 

 buccaneer had come to his bad end, and high on 

 the cliff a modern lighthouse blinked its star. 



"It's needed by the composition," said my 

 brother firmly. "It cannot come out." 



So in it stayed, its beacon thrown a little dis- 

 concertingly upon my scholarship. Still while 

 I yielded, I could not help thinking that instead 

 of deacon and divine, it was a pity that the Puri- 

 tans had not begot an artist. It would have been 

 so much more practical. The Hesperus had not 

 been wrecked. A lighthouse would have stood 

 on Norman's Woe, sprung complete and Jove- 

 born from the artist's brain. 



After so much frankness, it is only fair to state 

 [30] 



