So I sat on my Bench and looked at the sea and dreamed. It seemed to me that Centuries must have passed since I was a light-hearted girl, running up and down that beech, paddling, and so forth, with no thought of the future farther away than my next meal.
Once I lived to eat. Now I merely ate to live, and hardly that. The fires of Genius must be fed, but no more.
Sitting there, I suddenly made a discovery. The boat house was near me, and I realize that upstairs, above the Bath-houses, et cetera, there must be a room or two. The very thought intriged me (a new word for interest, but coming into use, and sounding well).
Solatude—how I craved it for my work. And here it was, or would be when I had got the Place fixed up. True, the next door boat-house was close, but a boat-house is a quiet place, generaly, and I knew that nowhere, aside from the dessert, is there perfect Silence.
I investagated at once, but found the place locked and the boatman gone. However, there was a latice, and I climbed up that and got in. I had a Fright there, as it seemed to be full of people, but I soon saw it was only the Familey bathing suits hung up to dry. Aside from the odor of drying things it was a fine study, and I decided to take a small table there, and the various tools of my Profession.
Climbing down, however, I had a surprise. For a man was just below, and I nearly put my foot on his shoulder in the darkness.
“Hello!” he said. “So it’s you.”
I was quite speachless. It was Mr. Beecher himself, in his dinner clothes and bareheaded.
Oh flutering Heart, be still. Oh Pen, move steadily. Oh tempora o mores!
“Let me down,” I said. I was still hanging to the latice.