THE
BRAVEST BOAT
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appeared to make these two good people-for nearly all people are
good who walk in parks-very happy again.
Now at a distance they saw a small boy, accompanied by his
father who was kneeling on the bank, trying to sail a toy boat in
the lagoon. But the blustery March wind soon slanted the tiny yacht
into trouble and the father hauled it back, reaching out with his
curved stick, and set it on an upright keel again for his son.
Your weight and your destiny.
Suddenly the girl's face, at close quarters in the weighing ma–
chine's mirror, seemed struggling with tears: she unbuttoned the
top button of her coat to readjust her scarf, revealing, attached to a
gold chain around her neck, a small gold cross. They were quite
alone now, standing on top of the embankment by the machine,
save for a few old men feeding the ducks below, and the father and
his son with the toy yacht, all of whom had their backs turned, while
an empty tram abruptly city-bound trundled round the minute ter–
minus square; and the man, who had been trying to light his pipe,
took her in his arms and tenderly kissed her, and then pressing his
face against her cheek, held her a moment closely.
The couple, having gone down obliquely to the lagoon once
more, had now passed the boy with his boat and his father. They
were smiling again. Or as much as they could while eating ham–
burgers. And they were smiling still as they passed the slender reeds
where a northwestern redwing was trying to pretend he had no notion
of nesting, the northwestern redwing who like all birds in these parts
may feel superior to man in that he is his own customs official, and
can cross the wild border without let.
Along the far side of Lost Lagoon the green dragons grew
thickly, their sheathed and cowled leaves giving off their peculiar
animal-like odor. The two lovers were approaching the forest in
which, ahead, several footpaths threaded the ancient trees. The park,
seagirt, was very large, and like many parks throughout the Pacific
Northwest, wisely left in places to the original wilderness. In fact,
though its beauty was probably unique, it was quite like some Ameri–
can parks, you might have thought, save for the Union Jack that
galloped evermore by a pavilion, and but for the apparition, at this
moment, passing by on the carefully landscaped road slightly above,
which led with its tunnels and detours to a suspension bridge, of a
