harbor, which I, with my childish misconstruction of names,
called "Breakers' Island"; supposing that the grown people had
made a mistake when they spoke of it as "Baker's." But that far-
off, shining band of silver and blue seemed so different from the
whole great sea, stretching out as if into eternity from the feet
of the baby on the shore!

The marvel was not lessened when I began to study geography, and
comprehended that the world is round. Could it really be that we
had that endless "Atlantic Ocean" to look at from our window, to
dance along the edge of, to wade into or bathe in, if we chose?
The map of the world became more interesting to me than any of
the story-books. In my fanciful explorations I out-traveled
Captain Cook, the only voyager around the world with whose name
my childhood was familiar.

The field-paths were safe, and I was allowed to wander off alone
through them. I greatly enjoyed the freedom of a solitary
explorer among the seashells and wild flowers.

There were wonders everywhere. One day I picked up a star-fish on
the beach (we called it a "five-finger"), and hung him on a tree
to dry, not thinking of him as a living creature. When I went
some time after to take him down he had elasped with two or three
of his fingers the bough where I laid him, so that he could not
be removed without breaking his hardened shell. My conscience
smote me when I saw what an unhappy looking skeleton I had made
of him.

I overtook the horse-shoe crab on the sands, but I did not like