234 OVER ON THE ISLAND

I was right. It was a grove of tall white birch trees with extensive foliage solely at the top. Some- how the scene is strikingly similar to the well—known picture of Middelharnis, Holland.

At last we were really on the shore road-the latest shore road. Other roads, formerly safe, now hung precariously over the cliffs. Even the latest will soon have to be abandoned or the drivers will soon find themselves Swimming to the point.

At last, at last, the point! Several cars are there ahead of us. Tourists are busy gathering souvenirs to take home from this northern point—-—rocks, boulders, anything. One man is taking a very large boulder and the car almost seems to sag under its weight. I wonder what he will do with it. I wonder if now it decorates some New England garden, or did it go to far-off Florida or California as a little bit of ”the Island” in a strange land. Perhaps . . . I can see the proud owner pointing it out in his rock garden to his friends, and saying in a voice swelling with righteous pride:

“I brought it all the way from North Point, Prince Edward Island.”

“Prince Edward Island! Well, fancy that!” echo the friends, and promptly wonder where on earth that particular island is, anyway, and why .

That is, if he ever does get it home. I have my doubts. After all, springs have to be considered.

The point and the lighthouse . . . Judging from the map, I had expected to arrive at a sharp point which I should be able to identify immediately as North Point. The point, however, is round, unless one looks out over the water to the long slender reef