"They are rounding the spit," says Cousin D. "Do look, Phoemie."

I did look, but saw nothing particular--who could? What would one spit
be in a whole ocean of water.

Then came another shout.

"They have marked the boy."

"Goodness, gracious," says I, "is there a boy overboard? Do fling out a
boat-hook or something!"

"Do not disturb yourself, Phoemie," said Cousin D.; "that particular
boy has been swimming in one spot these ten years."

"And alive yet?" says I, feeling my eyes widen like saucers.

"Just as live as he ever was," says he.

"You don't say so," says I. "Can we see him from here?"

"Yes; yonder!"

Cousin D. pointed toward something in the water, black, with a red cap
on. There did not seem to be much danger of his sinking, for he kept his
head high, and a good many boats were near enough to keep him up. I lost
sight of him, and watched the vessels flying off again. But somehow,
when they came in sight once more, my enthusiasm was all gone, and I
began to feel limp and dreadfully discouraged. I haven't had such an
uproar about my--well--heart, since the Grand Duke sailed, and that was
very different, a sort of affectionate flutter, while this is beyond
ex-pres-sion.

Sisters, at the end of the last sentence, my head fell into one of those
blue cushions, and I have a dreamy feeling that waves with white hats on
were bowing to me right and left.

I have lifted my head again. The yachts are coming in full split. As
each comes up, the steamboats and vessels give a yell that makes the sea
tremble, and scares all the birds in the neighborhood. One time they
shriek--that is for the _Gracie_. Then there was a deep, long howl--that
was for the _Jantha_. Then there was a yell, a shriek, and a howl, all
together, which was for the _Vixen_.

What yacht beat, I don't pretend to know, but it comes to me as if in a
hideous dream that it was the _Vixen_.

The next thing I have on my mind was, a table set out in the cabin, and
the popping of corks from long bottles, with a sound that made me quiver
all over. Then I recollect that some one was persecuting me with offers
of something nice to eat, for which I shall loath them as long as I
live.

Sisters, I did _not_ see a single ocean wave thirty feet high--far from
it--but those I did see were quite high enough. If you don't believe me,
go to a yacht race, that's all.

LXXII.

MUSIC THAT IS MUSIC.

Dear sisters:--I love music. My soul was bro