peer
through your eyelashes, there was a rose tint with the gold and purple
splashes in the sea, like tails of drowned peacocks. You know it is like
putting on magic spectacles to peep at the world that way. Peter Storm
told me how to do it.

He tells me many things, queer little things and queer big ones, because
he has "knocked about the world" and learned them for himself. He does
not think he will ever settle down to be happy in one place; but he
likes Long Island to rest in while he takes a long breath. He says what
I call its "sweetness" comes from having two Ice Ages that have given it
a "legacy" of small soft hills and harbours made before men were born or
thought of.

I suppose the Ice Ages made the Shinnecock Hills, though they look as
young as I do, and as happy. Captain Winston, who loves Indian names,
says "Shinnecock" really means "plain, or flat place." But never mind,
there has been time enough since the hills were named to mix things up!
And most people care more about talking "golf" in this part of the world
than of Indian times; for there is a wonderful golf club close by. Mr.
Storm will teach me to play, and already we begin; but I have not come
to that part of my news yet.

I cannot think the Ice Ages had much to do with one of the things most
charming which make the character of Long Island: I mean duck ponds. Oh,
but the most enchanting duck ponds you could sit for days to watch! And
the ducks are not looking like the dull ducks of every day, in other
places of the world. They are most elaborate ducks, and their ponds are
full of sky and clouds you'd think they would stumble over when they
swim: bright, laughing ponds like eyes in the landscape.

Now, would you believe a village called "Quogue" could be pretty? It is
as if croaked by a frog. But there was a fairy story I remember, where
every time the frog croaked (he was a prince cursed into a frog's skin
by a bad godmother) jewels fell out of his mouth. So one could imagine
it had been with Quogue: and the jewels turned into beautiful houses.
The houses are very old now; that is, old for America, which makes them
more beautiful. It is only the middle-aged houses that are not beautiful
here, and that is true all over the world perhaps; for people had a
terrible cramp in their sense of beauty fifty years ago.

Quogue is on one of those lovely inlets the Ice Ages kindly made.
Quantock Bay has not a sound of romance, but when you know that it m