breakers. What I did say was: 'I did not know anybody was here. I do
not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's, and I am writing
an ode to the ocean.' After I had said this it seemed to ring in my
ears like, 'I come from Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful
James.'

"I glanced timidly at her.

"'She's thinking of the same thing,' said I to myself.

"However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed
she drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long
that it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed
to be in a fair state of repair.

"'I--I am sorry,' she said, 'but would you mind not walking on the
beach?'

"This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,
but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.

"'Dear me!' she cried; 'you don't understand. I do not--I would not
think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely
ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your
footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying.'

"'Oh!' said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the
middle of a flower-bed; 'really I did not notice any impressions.
Impressions of what?'

"'I don't know,' she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. 'If
you step this way in a straight line you can do no damage.'

"I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of a
wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manoeuvres of the
kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

"This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well
enough when let alone.

"'You can scarcely expect,' said I, 'that a man absorbed in his own
ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated
nothing.'

"As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints
stretching away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How
large they looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

"'I wish to explain,' she said, gravely, looking at the point of her
parasol. 'I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to
forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to
me. Perhaps,' she continued, in sudden alarm, 'perhaps this beach
belongs to you?'

"'The beach? Oh no,' I said.

"'But--but you were going to write poems about it?'

"'Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have
observed,' said I, frankly, 'that the p