46 OVER ON THE ISLAND

sits musing, with his chin in his hand. Now and again he takes a particularly large, reflective bite from a shining red apple. Occasionally he reads an extract aloud to his wife. She nods her head approvingly but does not raise her eyes from her knitting. Two youngsters of the “ Katzenjamrner ” stage are obviously looking for new fields to conquer, and I fear for the comfort of their parents. I gravitate toward the family unconsciously.

“ It’s a lovely day,” remarked the librarian.

“Lovely," I agreed.

What a blessing the weather is! It is the one and only topic of conversation which is useful at all times, in all places, and among all people. Preliminaries thus dispensed with, the conversation flowed along easily.

“Our name is Smith.”

How extraordinary!

“We have been trying to think out the plan of the old fort—but we haven’t got very far, ” he continued ruefully. “ It seems hard to imagine it as a real fort.”

“Yet it is less than a hundred and seventy years since it was the Island’s principal defence works!”

“We might make the rounds of the fort and see what’s left. ”

“Well, I haven’t the ambition of a pet flea,” remarked his wife.

“Say, which fort is this—Fort Amherst or Fort la Joye?”

“I’m not sure. According to Stewart’s history, Fort Amherst was a ‘large square redoubt with a broad deep ditch, mounted eighteen pieces of cannon and contained handsome barracks.’ It was com- manded by higher ground. That’s why it was destroyed. ”