meadows, with the glimmer of water in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I could hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long the little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered them from distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted like feathers upon the sea.
One morning, toward the end of the week, I, strolling along the dunes, came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.
"This," said I, "must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?"
He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side, considering first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.
"Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."
"Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand that there are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicine advertisements scattered over a landscape?"
"Hey?" he said perplexed.
"Will you kindly remove that advertisement?" I persisted.
"Too late," said Frisby; "it's sot."
I was too disgusted to speak, but my dis-
