exhilarating as new wine.  Underneath them the water was transparent as crystal, and far below they could see the green and purple sea-weeds rising like a many-colored wood, through which occasionally they saw a fish, startled by their oars, dart like an arrow.  The sky overhead was a cloudless blue, and as they kept not far from shore, the clearly cut outline of the coast, with its rocks and hills standing out in the vivid atmosphere, made a glowing picture, to which the golden green of the spring herbage, bathed in its morning sunlight, lent the magic of enchantment.  Who could have been otherwise than happy in such a scene and at such a time? but these were boys with the long bright holiday before them, and happiness is almost too quiet a word to express the bounding exultation of heart, the royal and tingling sense of vigorous life, which made them shout and sing, as their boat rustled through the ripples, from a mere instinct of inexpressible enjoyment.

They had each contributed some luxury to the pic-nic, and it made a very tempting display as they spread it out, under a sunny pebbled cave, by St. Catherine’s Head; although, instead of anything more objectionable, they had thought it best to content themselves with a very moderate quantity of beer.  When they had done eating, they amused themselves on the shore; and had magnificent games among the rocks, and in every fantastic nook of the romantic promontory.  And then Eric suggested a bathe to wind up with, as it was the first day when it had been quite warm enough to make bathing pleasant.

“But we’ve got no towels.”

“Oh! chance the towels.  We can run about till we’re dry.”  So they bathed, and then getting in the boat to row back again, they all agreed that it was the very jolliest day they’d ever had at Roslyn, and voted to renew the experiment before the holidays were over, and take Wright and Vernon with them in a larger boat.

It was afternoon,—­and afternoon still warm and beautiful,—­when they began to row home; so they took it quietly, and kept near the land for variety’s sake, laughing, joking, and talking as merrily as ever.

“I declare I think this is the prettiest or anyhow the grandest bit of the whole coast,” said Eric, as they neared a glen through whose narrow gorge a green and garrulous little river gambolled down with noisy turbulence into the sea.  He might well admire that glen; its steep and rugged sides were veiled with lichens, moss, and wild-flowers, and the sea-birds found safe refuge in its lonely windings, which were colored with topaz and emerald by the pencillings of nature and the rich stains of time.

“Yes,” answered Montagu, “I always stick up for Avon Glen as the finest scene we’ve got about here.  But, I say, who’s that gesticulating on the rock there to the right of it?  I verily believe it’s Wright, apostrophising the ocean for Vernon’s benefit.  I only see one of them though.”