The islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1891-1899, 1896-02-20
LOST AT SEA.

There he lay III the sunshine, great
black, noble animal, with his work in
this world done. / was standing at his
side looking at him when my friend
came up and joined me.
Are you trying to make friends with
our old Brutus?" he said to me. "Ah,
he doesn't care much for making new
friends now. He would only like to find
the old friends again that he buried long
ago in that mysterious past of his y
Ny friend stopped as he spoke and
stroked the great, soft head. Poor
Brutusi" he said Poor, old faithful
dogr"
1t was not much Of a story, yet it was
rather curious. About five years ago my
friend and his family were staying dur
ing the summer at little seaside town
on the north coast of France. 1t was
quiet and rather dull place, except that
its harbor was always lively with the
coming and going of fisher boats and
collier briggs and such like craft, the
watching of which was quite an endless
delight to the children, who, indeed,
spent every moment they could steal
from morning to night down at the
quay, staring with all their might, and
as often as they could doing more than
staring, at all that went on there.
1t was fine, great open sea, that
even in summer was pretty rough at
times, coming tumbling often in great
waves over the beach and covering all
the pier with showers of spray. Charlie
and Willie were always in state of
huge delight whenever those big waves
came rolling landward. They used ev
cry morning, as soon as they went out
of bed, to run to their bedroom window,
with little shoeless feet and bare legs,
to see whether the white crests were
there.
Of course they never thought of any
thing-for they were very small crea-
tures-but Of the fun that it was to see
the leaping and rolling water, and of
the delight of being sent scampering up
the beach when some bigger wave than
all the rest would run after them as it
broke upon the sands, as if it were re-
solved to catch them and wet their
stockings and shoes at least, let their
little legs fly as fast as they would. sit
must be rough at sea-" their father and
mother used to say sometimes in their
hearing, especially during one week
when the north wind blew with a
strange, wild roaring and down about
the pier the fishermen stood looking
through their glasses out to sea, anxious
~ shaking their heads now and then,
but Willie and Charlie only grew mer-
rier as the wind blew stronger. They
thought that to be out upon the beach
when they could not keep their footing,
and when the very air was white with
spray, was the finest fun that they ever
had in all their lives.
81 wish it would blow like this for
everl'' Charlie would say
And then Willie, who was the youn-
gest, and who never liked to be outdone,
would cap Charlie s speech and cry with
enthusiasm, 81 wish it would blow ten
times harder"
One bright, warm summer morning,
with just wind enough to make little
curl upon the waves and to fill the sails
as the fisher boats put out, there were
vessels coming in this morning as well
as leaving the harbor. Several brigs
that had been expected for some days,
and that the storm had delayed, got
into port today. But there was one espe-
cially that among all the rest attracted
the boys attention. 1t was an English
collier, standing on whose deck, as she
came near, they saw a great, black,
noble Newfoundland dog. The creature
was standing upon his four feet, taking
no notice of any one, but slowly moved
his head from side to side, as if he were
vainly looking for something that he
could not understanding quite still, so
passive that even when the boat touched
the quay, and people came up and
stroked and spoke to him, he merely lot
them do it and never moved so much as
the tip of his tail in answer to them.
The children had caught sight of him,
with shout of delight. "Oh, see what
big dogw Willie had cried, and clap
ping their joyful little hands they start
ed forward to get as near to the brig as
they could. They saw several people
gather round the creature presently, and
upon that they pushed their way into
the boat, too, squeezing in cleverly be-
tween the sailors legs, till they got quite
CLOSE to where the dog was, with the
master of the brig standing by his side
and telling THIS sad little story:
In the gray of the summer morning.
he was saying, almost as the French