SILVER FOXES AND SEACOWS 229

to the beacon—and the marshmallows. Then, there were the clam bakes

Our visitors were regular. Every morning a frisky red squirrel ran around the cupboard to see what he could find. How he scolded and fumed if there was nothing left for him. The silver, the cups, and even the cans he pushed ruthlessly aside, and carefully dodged our ill—timed missiles. When oil for the lamps was required, Jean and I were unanimously elected to walk up to the little store. There was a convenient milk-stand on the way. we rested there going and returning. There was an orchard, too—but the apples were rather green

Sometimes the canoe would be at the Sou’ west. Then one of us had to swim after it. Lazy days. Glorious days. We had our differences, though.

“I wish, ” I said to Jean as I was cleaning my teeth with her tooth paste, “I wish you would buy Minty s tooth paste. I like it better than this .

Jean turned her face to the wall to smother a grin.

“I wish you’d buy your own,” she responded smartly.

The week came to an end far too soon. By that time we had become so languid that the very thought of exploring further met not the slightest enthusiasm on our part, but at last we tore ourselves away and headed north.

Kildare Capes!

There is a clean-cut, salty beauty about their rugged outlines. There is a fascination in climbing around those scraggy rocks, and even through them, of finding unknown caves, and naming headlands appropriately. They are clean with the cleanliness resulting from daily salt—water baths. The spray showers the cliffs on stormy days and changes to-day’s castle into to-