. You don't think your father hasn't sense to take
care of himself! Or rather, Connie, for I grant that is poor ground of
comfort, you don't think I can go anywhere without my Father to take
care of me?"

"But there is no occasion--is there, papa?"

"Do you think I should be better pleased with my boys if they shrunk
from everything involving the least possibility of danger because there
was no occasion for it? That is just the way to make cowards. And I am
certain God would not like his children to indulge in such moods of
self-preservation as that. He might well be ashamed of them. The
fearful are far more likely to meet with accidents than the courageous.
But really, Connie, I am almost ashamed of talking so. It is all your
fault. There is positively no ground for apprehension, and I hope you
won't spoil my walk by the thought that my foolish little girl is
frightened."

"I will be good--indeed I will, papa," she said, holding up her mouth
to kiss me.

I left her room, and went through the wooden passage into the bark hut.
The wind roared about it, shook it, and pawed it, and sung and whistled
in the chinks of the planks. I went out and shut the door. That moment
the wind seized upon me, and I had to fight with it. When I got on the
path leading along the edge of the downs, I felt something lighter than
any feather fly in my face. When I put up my hand, I found my cheek
wet. Again and again I was thus assailed, but when I got to the
breakwater I found what it was. They were flakes of foam, bubbles
worked up into little masses of adhering thousands, which the wind blew
off the waters and across the downs, carrying some of them miles
inland. When I reached the breakwater, and looked along its ridge
through the darkness of the night, I was bewildered to see a whiteness
lying here and there in a great patch upon its top. They were but
accumulations of these foam-flakes, like soap-suds, lying so thick that
I expected to have to wade through them, only they vanished at the
touch of my feet. Till then I had almost be