GOLDEN APPLES. 



11 



arrived by chance at some little garden of the Hesperidea 

 in the land of the Hyperboreans, far away in the west, 

 on the ultimate margin of the sea ? We try not to 

 exaggerate, but had you, good reader, ever tasted some 

 of the delicious fruit with which the branches of the lime 

 trees on this island fairly groaned, or seen these same 

 trees one golden blaze of colour against the green back- 

 ground of the little forest clearings in which the islanders 

 had made their gardens, you might have thought, in 

 very truth, that there was still left in this twentieth 

 oentury one last unknown retreat upon the ocean, where 

 Hera still guarded her golden apples. 



If so, it did not detract from our interest in it all to learn 

 that the " Zenaida " was the first yacht which had ever 

 invaded her sanctuary. 



That night a soft breeze came in from the south- 

 west, bringing with it a gentle, heaving swell which 

 made the yacht roll a little. Had we needed any further 

 aid to sleep than this rocking of our ocean-going 

 cradle (perhaps some would have been happier without 

 it), the soft soughing of the wind as it stirred the 

 palm fronds along the rock-strewn headland and the 

 drowsy splash and thua of waves upon a sandy beach 

 would have done the trick. As we took a last turn upon 

 the deck that night, the moon was throwing a glittering 

 path of molten silver far out across the sea towards 

 distant Yucatan. Its pale ghostly light fell full upon 

 the cocoanut palms, making every stem and every graceful 

 frona stand out in sharp relief against the sky. At the 

 top end of the bay a solitary light was twinkling against 

 a dark mass of trees, and we concluded that our arrival 

 had given the islanders enough excuse for discussion to 

 keep them up long past their usual hour for going to bed. 



