Friday, October eleventh.
This day we should have been in Seward. It was calm although it rained from time to time. Olson offered to tow us across to Caine’s Head; but, the rain coming up as we were about to start in the morning, we waited till afternoon, started, proceeded half a mile, encountered engine trouble, and finally ignominiously rowed home, I pulling Olson and his motor and Rockwell bringing in our own dory. If it had not been so late we would have kept on.
We have a magpie. I saw one hop into Olson’s shed, quickly ran and closed the door, and there he was. Now he’s in a box-trap cage set on a specially constructed shelf on our front gable. He’s a garrulous creature and bites angrily; but he’s a youngster and we hope to teach him to say all sorts of pretty things; Olson says they take naturally to swearing. So Rockwell has at last a pet.
If only it will hold calm! To-night it is fair and starlight—but we can never be sure of the weather’s constancy. We hold everything in readiness to start in the morning.