arehanded with wind and sea to
catch fish, have this wisdom: that a barren, a waste of selfish water,
a low, soggy sky have nothing to do with the hearts of men, which are
independent, in love and hope and present content, of these unfeeling
things. We were seafaring men, every jack of the place, with no
knowledge of a world apart from green water, which forever confronted
us, fashioning our lives; but we played the old comedy as heartily,
with feeling as true and deep, the same fine art, as you, my
gentlefolk! and made a spectacle as grateful to the gods for whom the
stage (it seems) is set.

* * * * *

And there is a road from the Tickle to the sea--to an outer cove,
high-cliffed, frothy, sombre, with many melancholy echoes of wind and
breakers and listless human voices, where is a cluster of hopeless,
impoverished homes. 'Tis a wilful-minded path, lingering indolently
among the hills, artful, intimate, wise with age, and most indulgently
secretive of its soft discoveries. It is used to the lagging feet of
lovers. There are valleys in its length, and winding, wooded
stretches, kindly places; and there are arching alders along the way
to provide a seclusion yet more tender. In the moonlight 'tis a path
of enchantment--a way (as I know) of pain and high delight: of a
wandering hope that tantalizes but must in faith, as we are men, be
followed to its catastrophe. I have suffered much of ecstasy and
despair upon that path. 'Tis the road to Whisper Cove.

Judith dwelt at Whisper Cove....

VIII

A MAID O' WHISPER COVE

Fourteen, then, and something more: a footloose lad of Twist
Tickle--free to sail and wander, to do and dream, to read the riddles
of my years, blithe and unalarmed. 'Tis beyond the will and wish of me
to forget the day I lay upon the Knob o' Lookout, from afar keeping
watch on the path to Whisper Cove--the taste of it, salty and cool,
the touch of it upon my cheek and in my hair, the sunlight and
scampering wind: the simple haps and accidents, the perception,
awakening within me, and the portent. 'Twas blowing high and merrily
from the west--a yellow wind from the warm west and from the golden
mist and low blue line of coast at the other side of the bay. It
rippled the azure floor between, and flung the spray of the breakers
into the sunshine, and heartily clapped the gray cliff, and pulled the
ears of the spruce, and went swinging on, in joyous mood,