He fancies it is getting late,
For by his watch 'tis now past eight,
Some minutes twenty-three;
The shore he scans with eyesight keen.
And notes the track of small bottines,
Down by the summer sea.
He hums a merry song and strolls,
And tracks this pretty pair o' soles—
His heart is full of glee!
For now that he has found the clue,