136 OVER ON THE ISLAND

in herring-bone fashion. The nearer we came to the church the more perceptible became the change. We began to grow suspicious. Nearer . . . still nearer. We stopped on the border line of discovery. Here it was a church spire. We moved forward. And—here it was a tall lanky tree towering over some one’s barn. We turned our bicycles and started back—satisfied, at least.

Brudenell Island is hard to find. And every one seems to have a different idea of how to find it.

“Take the first turn to the right, and the next to the left, ” said one individual.

“Take the second turn to the left, and the first to the right, " another inhabitant assured us about three miles further along.

We pondered over our two directions, then took matters into our own hands, and went straight ahead.

Eventually we went down a long lane to inquire once again, and discovered that the lane led to the shore, and so, on to the island.

There is, in Inverness, Scotland, the most peaceful and beautiful cemetery in the world. Some call it the “Hill of Fairies"—Tomnahurich. It stands erect, high above the surrounding ground, like a huge boulder left by a glacier. Circular paths lead from terrace to terrace. Trees and tombstones stand silently together. Through the green trees gleam the blue waters of the Ness, and the bright roofs of Inverness, A perfect spot to be buried in—if you want to be buried.

Brudenell Island is that hill's counterpart in the New World. Like Tomnahurich, it stands aloof and alone by the river, in fact, in the river. At low tide a long sand bar reaches out from the mainland to this