s a far, wide outlook--all sea and rock: along the
ragged, treeless coast, north and south, to the haze wherewith, in
distances beyond the ken of lads, it melted; and upon the thirty wee
white houses of our folk, scattered haphazard about the harbour water,
each in its own little cove and each with its own little stage and great
flake; and over the barren, swelling rock beyond, to the blue
wilderness, lying infinitely far away.

I shuddered when from the Watchman I looked upon the wilderness.

"'Tis a dreadful place," I had heard my father say. "Men starves in
there."

This I knew to be true, for, once, I had seen the face of a man who came
crawling out.

"The sea is kinder," I thought.

Whether so or not, I was to prove, at least, that the wilderness was
cruel.

* * * * *

One blue day, when the furthest places on sea and land lay in a thin,
still haze, my mother and I went to the Watchman to romp. There was
place there for a merry gambol, place, even, led by a wiser hand, for
roaming and childish adventure--and there were silence and sunlit space
and sea and distant mists for the weaving of dreams--ay, and, upon rare
days, the smoke of the great ships, bound down the Straits--and when
dreams had worn the patience there were huge loose rocks handy for
rolling over the brow of the cliff--and there was gray moss in the
hollows, thick and dry and soft, to sprawl on and rest from the delights
of the day. So the Watchman was a playground for my mother and me--my
sister, my elder by seven years, was all the day long tunefully busy
about my father's comfort and the little duties of the house--and, on
that blue day, we climbed the broken cliff behind our house and toiled
up the slope beyond in high spirits, and we were very happy together;
for my mother was a Boston maid, and, though she turned to right
heartily when there was work to do, she was not like the Labrador born,
but thought it no sin to wander and laugh in the sunlight of the heads
when came the blessed opportunity.

"I'm fair done out," said I, at last, returning, flushed, from a race to
Beacon Rock.

"Lie here, Davy--ay, but closer yet--and rest," said she.

I flung myself at full length beside her, spreading abroad my sturdy
little arms and legs; and I caught her glance, glowing warm and proud,
as it ran over me, from toe to crown, and, flashing prouder yet through
a gathering mist of tears, returned again.

"I knows