ttle groups. For a long while I sat on the knotted
roots of one of them, listening to the slow wash of the waves on the
shingle far below. I saw the ribbon of smoke left by the Harvey-Browne's
steamer get thinner and disappear. I watched the sunset-red fade out of
the sky and sea, and all the world grow grey and full of secrets. Once,
after I had sat there a very long time, I thought I heard the faint
departing whistle of a far-distant train, and my heart leapt up with
exultation. Oh the gloriousness of freedom and silence, of being alone
with my own soul once more! I drew a long, long breath, and stood up and
stretched myself in the supreme comfort of complete relaxation.

'You look very happy,' said a rather grudging voice close to me.

It belonged to a Fraeulein of uncertain age, come up to the plateau in
galoshes to commune in her turn with night and Nature; and I suppose I
must have been smiling foolishly all over my face, after the manner of
those whose thoughts are pleasant.

A Harvey-Browne impulse seized me to stare at her and turn my back, but
I strangled it. 'Do you know why I look happy?' I inquired instead; and
my voice was as the voice of turtle-doves.

'No--why?' was the eagerly inquisitive answer.

'Because I am.'

And nodding sweetly I walked away.

THE EIGHTH DAY

FROM STUBBENKAMMER TO GLOWE

When Reason lecturing us on certain actions explains that they are best
avoided, and Experience with her sledge-hammers drives the lesson home,
why do we, convinced and battered, repeat the actions every time we get
the chance? I have known from my youth the opinion of Solomon that he
that passeth by and meddleth with strife belonging not to him, is like
one that taketh a dog by the ears; and I have a wise relative--not a
blood-relation, but still very wise--who at suitable intervals addresses
me in the following manner:--'Don't meddle.' Yet now I have to relate
how, on the eighth day of my journey round Ruegen, in defiance of Reason,
Experience, Solomon, and the wise relative, I began to meddle.

The first desire came upon me in the night, when I could not sleep
because of the mosquitoes and the constant coming into the pavilion of
late and jovial tourists. The tourists came in in jolly batches till
well on towards morning, singing about things like the Rhine and the
Fatherland's frontiers, glorious songs and very gory, as they passed my
hastily-shut window on their way round to the door. After