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For wafts of unforgotten music come,

All unawares, into my lonely room,

To thrill me with the memories of the past–

Sometimes a tender voice from out the gloom,

A light hand on the keys, a shadow cast

Upon a learned tome

That blurs somewhat Alpha and Omega,

A touch upon my shoulder, a pale face,

Upon whose perfect curves the firelight plays,

Or love-lit eyes, the sweetest e’er I saw.

” Memory Harvest.”

It was clear morning upon Suliscanna. That lonely rock ran hundreds of feet up into the heavens, and pointed downwards also to the deepest part of the blue. Simeon and Anna were content.

Or, rather, I ought to say Anna and Simeon, and that for a reason which will appear. Simeon was the son of the keeper of the temporary light upon Suliscanna, Anna the daughter of the contractor for the new lighthouse, which had already begun to grow like a tall-shafted tree on its rock foundation at Easdaile Point. Suliscanna was not a large island–in fact, only a mile across the top; but it was quite six or eight in circumference when one followed the ins and outs of the rocky shore. Tremendous cliffs rose to the south and west facing the Atlantic, pierced with caves into which the surf thundered or grumbled, according as the uneasy giant at the bottom of the sea was having a quiet night of it or the contrary. Grassy and bare was the top of the island. There was not a single tree upon it; and, besides the men’s construction huts, only a house or two, so white that each shone as far by day as the lighthouse by night.

There was often enough little to do on Suliscanna. At such times, after standing a long time with hands in their pockets, the inhabitants used to have a happy inspiration: “Ha, let us go and whitewash the cottages!” So this peculiarity gave the island an undeniably cheerful appearance, and the passing ships justly envied the residents.

Simeon and Anna were playmates. That is, Anna played with Simeon when she wanted him.

“Go and knit your sampler, girl!” Simeon was saying to-day. “What do girls know about boats or birds?”

He was in a bad humour, for Anna had been unbearable in her exactions.

“Very well,” replied Anna, tossing her hair; “I can get the key of the boat and you can’t. I shall take Donald out with me.”

Now, Donald was the second lighthouse-keeper, detested of Simeon. He was grown-up and contemptuous. Also he had whiskers–horrid ugly things, doubtless, but whiskers. So he surrendered at discretion.

“Go and get the key, then, and we will go round to the white beaches. I’ll bring the provisions.”

He would have died any moderately painless death rather than say, “The oatcake and water-keg.”

So in a little they met again at the Boat Cove which Providence had placed at the single inlet upon the practicable side of Suliscanna, which could not be seen from either the Laggan Light or the construction cottages. Only the lighter that brought the hewn granite could spy upon it.

“Mind you sneak past your father, Anna!” cried Simeon, afar off.

His voice carried clear and lively. But yet higher and clearer rose the reply, spoken slowly to let each word sink well in.

“Teach-your-grandmother-to-suck-eggs–ducks’ eggs!”

What the private sting of the discriminative, only Simeon knew. And evidently he did know very well, for he kicked viciously at a dog belonging to Donald the second keeper–a brute of a dog it was; but, missing the too-well-accustomed cur, he stubbed his toe. He then repeated the multiplication table. For he was an admirable boy and careful of his language.