A PLAGUE OF MICE 147

neighbourhood strongly sympathizes with him. And Mrs. Abell still craves the horse!

There is another, far happier association with this district- so picturesquely, and yet so oddly, named, Fortune. To many different people there were quite different kinds of fortune. Beyond the quaint little fishing villages and away out on the point is truly the most perfect spot in the world.

There where the lofty fir trees grow, Where the clean winds blow so free,

F lockton used to wander. Here he sat in this natural cathedral of trees on the fir-fringed point of Fortune, and looked out over the high cliffs on the restless waters of the Atlantic. The clear, salty breeze from the ocean, strained through the sobbing pines, gave his soul great peace and quiet. Here he returned year after year. Now, even though he is gone, actors still return for peace to this lovely spot. For thirty years they have been coming.

Down in Florida, far from his loved Island, Flockton died. According to tradition, his body drifted down the river to the sea and the waves finally brought it to rest at his old summer home at Fortune.

The memory of this actor lives on in the place he loved so well. On this fir-fringed point, Mrs. Leslie Carter and David Belasco have erected a sundial of red granite and marble “ in memory of a faithful friend and loyal servant.” The ashes of the famous actor are supposed to lie inside. If that is true, then the story of the waves returning Flockton to his Island home must be, unfortunately, purely imaginative. On the sundial top is the inscription: “The creeping shadows mark another hour of absence. "

O. 1,—11