ly. And you'd better go to Devil's Hole this afternoon and
see the fish there. Try and persuade the old keeper of the place to
talk, and if you can get him started, he will tell you a good deal about
Bermuda fishes. They're worth knowing about, too!"

Acting on this advice, Colin strolled into the little city and rented a
bicycle. The roads, he found, were perfect for wheeling, there being
only one hill too steep for riding, but in spite of all that he had
heard about the absence of distances, it seemed incredible that an
hour's easy wheeling should enable him to cover almost half the entire
length of the main island. Everything was in miniature, and having a
camera with him, he took snapshots recklessly everywhere, each turn in
the road seeming to give a picture more attractive than the last. He was
to find, however, that the charm of Bermuda is too subtle for the
photographic plate.

On the way to Devil's Hole, taking the south-shore road, Colin had an
opportunity of noticing its amazing contrast to the north shore, which
had seemed so desolate and uninviting as the steamer came in. The
conformation was widely different, marked by higher cliffs, rocks
jutting out boldly into the sea, with the waves boiling over them and
throwing up the spray, wide stretches of fine white sand, and as far as
the eye could see, small circular atolls of coral level with the surface
of the water. He paused for a little while at the house where the Irish
poet, Thomas Moore, once dwelt while a government employee on the
island, and--like every visitor--he sat for a while under the famous
Calabash Tree, renowned in verse. Nor did he fail to visit the marvelous
stalactite caves of which Bermuda has five beautiful examples, lighted
with electricity to display their wonders. The boy was greatly
interested in the most recently discovered one of all, where the
stalactites branch like trees in a manner but little understood by
geologists. But, greatly though he wished to investigate this problem,
Colin's objective point was the Devil's Hole; and fish, not stalactites,
were his first consideration.

Devil's Hole was a strange place. Lying inland, a little distance from
Harrington Sound, and with no visible connection with the sea, it seemed
a creation of its own. It was a pool, sunk in a bower of trees, almost
exactly circular and over sixty feet deep. Silent and reflecting every
detail of trees and sky above, the dark water was filled with fishe