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finally by an entire city with hundreds of bathers swarming over the
beach. From his vantage point at sea they resembled so many ants in
an ant hill. The sun was now high in the sky and very bright and
hot, doubly so because of the reflection off the water. The boy took
the first drink from the quart canteen he had brought along.

The city and the adjacent inlet which connected the ocean with
the bay behind soon passed under the even strokes and the only com-
ment heard on his progress was the hollow sound of the oars in the
rowlocks. Now he was nearing his destination, a bleak, barren island
called Assateague. It was inhabited solely by a breed of wild ponies
whose ancestors had been intended for the Spanish mines in Peru
until the Spanish galleon broke up in the storm and the ponies swam
ashore-many, many years ago. For a moment he rested on the oars
and observed the island, its brilliant white sand, the low dunes
covered with the tall dune grass, and the stunted pine forest behind.
It was truly an island in the sun, and he somehow wished it were his.
The oars dipped into the water again as the boy pulled for shore, and
in a brief space of time he had covered the mile or so between and

beached the dory on the white sands.
There were no ponies in sight, but their tracks were everywhere,

and the long beach was covered with shells, since there were no hu-
mans on the island who could pick them up as souvenirs. Only ponies
lived here, and they couldn't care less about these strange objects
cast on the shore during some wild storm. The boy picked up one
of the shells. It would be his sole momento of the journey, a reminder

in later life of his test.
It was getting late and, although the boy had come far, he had

only come halfway. Now he had to return. Hurriedly he ate the sand-
wiches that had been packed and found they did little to appease the
gnawing sensation in his stomach. There was half a canteen of water
left, and he drank sparingly of it for he knew his need for it would

be far greater later on.
With a shove the dory was in the water and the boy began pulling

his way through the surf. At sea again he pointed the bow northward,
up the coast toward home. In a short while he was at the mouth of
the inlet. It was' very rough, for the tides were changing and the cur-
rent was sweeping out from the bay. He swung the dory seaward to
get out beyond but found it just as rough a mile further out. He
was left with no alternative but to cross the turbulance, and this he
proceeded to do. In the middle, the waves were high and without
order, making it exceedingly difficult to get a bite with his oars, but

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