but it soon tired her. "If you want to know what it is like," she wrote
to a friend in the North, "just tie a long string around your boy
Charlie, and try to haul him out of the back yard into the house."

But Euphemia was not upon the sea-beach to-day. I walked a mile or so
along the sand, but did not find her. She had gone around the little
bluff to our shark-line. This was a long rope, like a clothes-line,
with a short chain at the end and a great hook, which was baited with a
large piece of fish. It was thrown out every day, the land end tied to
a stout stake driven into the sand, and the whole business given into
the charge of "the crew," who was to report if a shark should bite. But
to-day the little rascal had wandered away, and Euphemia was managing
the line.

"I thought I would try to catch a shark all by myself," she said. "I
wonder if there's one on the hook now. Would you mind feeling the
line?"

I laughed as I took the rope from her hand.

"If you had a shark on the hook, my dear," said I, "you would have no
doubt upon the subject."

"It would be a splendid thing to catch the first one," she said, "and
there must be lots of them in here, for we have seen their back fins so
often."

I was about to answer this remark when I began to walk out into the
water. I did not at the time know exactly why I did this, but it seemed
as if some one had taken me by the hand and was leading me into the