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people. However, the beach was beautiful as flamboyant color poured
out by the setting sun spread over the dunes. Above the white caps,
of the huge breakers immense sea gulls swooped lower and lower,
waiting for the great Atlantic Ocean to yield them dinner. The scene
was breathtaking.

I sat on a log and watched Johnny tramp the wet, smooth sands
that reflected the sky's color. He divided his attention between the,
crashing breakers and the gulls skimming the sea in a set formation.
There was one gull that held back, dangerously near the leaping
waves. Johnny watched it gliding low, its wings seemingly skimming
the rough waters.

"Hey there, Skimmer!" Johnny called out to the bird. "Better
not let your hunger get the best of your judgment. Just a little lower
and one of those waves is going to wallop you, but ,good!"

Heedless, the bird settled itself on a rounded swell that had
formed in a momentary lull as the sea gathered its forces for another
race toward the shore. The thin whine of the gull's departing com-
rades sounded just before the big breakers crashed.

"Skimmer! Fly, you crazy bird, or you'll be bashed to bits!"
Now, in the pause of the sea's rhythm, we could see the bird,
infinitely small against the roused forces of nature. Its left wing
seemed helpless and it could not rise into the air.
"Try, Skmimer!" Johnny called in anguish. Suddenly he pulled
off his sweater and shoes and took a few running steps toward the sur£.
"What in heaven's name is he up to?" I wondered. Then he looked
at his left arm. "I can't, Skimmer. I guess it doesn't matter, one little
bird out there in all that water."

Skimmer struggled valiently, keeping his white-capped head above
the waves.

"What chance has he got? Who is going to care?" Johnny moaned
between his clenched teeth. Above the sounds of the turbulent sea,
he called out, "God, help Skimmer! God, help me to help Skimmer!"

And to Johnny came the answer, "With God all things are pos-
sible."

Before I was able to stop him, he dived into the frothy sea, not
caring what arms piloted him, thinking only of the brave sea gull
alone and needing help.

"Keep your chin up-your beak up, Skimmer. I'm coming!"
He quickly thrust himself under the tremendous wave before him.
As he emerged there was again the strange lull that is a basic part of
the sea's rhythm. He scanned the waters and saw the weary bird

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