182 



RECREATION. 



uation. When the wind came, Faulkner isl- 

 and would be dead to leeward of us. If 

 we could only fetch the bar, we could an- 

 chor and wait for the storm to clear. With 

 the help of the 2 men, I lowered the main- 

 sail, snugly furled it and put the boom in 

 the crotch. Then we took in the jib and 

 securely lashed it to the bowsprit, with the 

 exception of a small corner, left so it could 

 be hoisted to give us steerage way. By that 

 time there was not a breath of wind. The 

 yacht rose and fell on the swell left by the 

 afternoon breeze, with not motion enough 

 in the air to put out a match. There were 

 probably scores in the city who never knew 

 it rained that afternoon until they left their 

 work to go home ; clerks and employees in 

 the big office buildings, who do not see the 

 sun from the time they commence their la- 

 bors in the morning until they quit at 

 night. Others, snugly housed on the land, 

 merely close the windows and let it rain, 

 thankful for a shower to refresh the 

 parched earth. The point of view makes 

 all the difference in the world. We were 

 practically alone on the water. No boats 

 were in sight, except a lumber schooner, 

 far to the South and a bony fisherman 

 away East of the island. 



The Western heavens were black as ink, 

 the roll of thunder was almost continu- 

 ous, the cloud was rent with lightning that 

 zigzagged from zenith to horizon, while 

 we, like a mark to be shot at, lay on the 

 inky water and waited. The girls were in 

 the cabin, with the cabin doors thrown 



back. George stood at the jib halyards, 

 Earl at the downhaul, I had the tiller. Sud- 

 denly from the cloud came a cool puff of 

 wind that filled the corner of the jib we 

 had left loose and swung us off. The next 

 puff was strong enough to start the boat 

 ahead, when, looking over the stern, I 

 could see the squall coming. It was so 

 strong it blew the top off the old sea 

 and flattened it down, looking in the dis- 

 tance like snow drifting over a meadow. 

 It struck us fairly, end on, and we flew 

 over the sea under bare poles, scudding be- 

 fore the blast, the wind whistling through 

 the rigging and spray blowing over the 

 stern. This lasted 10 minutes, when the 

 wind ceased as suddenly as it came, and we 

 could hear the roar of the rain, sounding in 

 the distance like a train of cars and ruling 

 a dark line on the surface of the water. 

 We closed the companion slide over the 

 girls and stood like statues, no shed to go 

 under, no umbrellas to hold up ; nothing to 

 do but watch the rain and lightning and 

 listen to the thunder. 



For half an hour the skies poured whole 

 water ; then they lit up and in the West the 

 cloud broke. In an hour the sun was out 

 bright and warm, with a light wind that 

 we were glad to improve. The soaked sails 

 were hoisted, we wrung what water we 

 could from our drenched clothing, sponged 

 off the seats, and when we rounded to at 

 the dock we were all right again, thankful 

 to come out so well. 



IN POTENTIAL MOOD. 



BELLE G. TAYLOR. 



She held the tiller, he rowed the boat, 

 While the whippoorwill trilled his plain- 

 tive note ; 

 And the purple shadows, soft and dim, 

 Spread a royal mantle over them. 



The twilight waned, and lake and sky 



Met close in darksome mystery ; 



While whispering pines on the dusky 



shore 

 Told weird tales, never heard before. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY R. J. BFNFORD. 



O, haste thee, boatman, with thine oar! 

 the packtrain. Steer, gentle coxswain, for the shore! 



Winner of the 66th Prize in Recreation's 5 th Annual O, summer night Sweet, subtle wild, 



Photo Competition. Alas ! the hearts thou hast beguiled. 



