Could it really be that we
had that endless "Atlantic Ocean" to look at from our window, to
dance along the edge of, to wade into or bathe in, if we chose?
The map of the world became more interesting to me than any of
the story-books. In my fanciful explorations I out-traveled
Captain Cook, the only voyager around the world with whose name
my childhood was familiar.
The field-paths were safe, and I was allowed to wander off alone
through them. I greatly enjoyed the freedom of a solitary
explorer among the seashells and wild flowers.
There were wonders everywhere. One day I picked up a star-fish on
the beach (we called it a "five-finger"), and hung him on a tree
to dry, not thinking of him as a living creature. When I went
some time after to take him down he had elasped with two or three
of his fingers the bough where I laid him, so that he could not
be removed without breaking his hardened shell. My conscience
smote me when I saw what an unhappy looking skeleton I had made
of him.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120