He was struggling with a knot in the lacing which fastened his brace.
"Why do things get in such knots?" he wondered, as Joan set about untangling it. "It always starts out by being a perfickly plain bow, and just look at it now! Salt-watery knots always stick so tight, too. Thank you awfully. You needn't bother with the strap; I can do that myself."
She did it, however, and helped him off with the brace, which was a good deal heavier than she had imagined. She tucked him up in the big rug and mended the fire. As she poked it, the embers sent up a little swarm of orange sparks against the pallid stars.
"I wish you'd say that poem again,—the one about the poor merman," Garth suggested. "I liked that."
So Joan said it from beginning to end, while the sea murmured along the beach and a soft land-breeze made the fire sway and waver.
When soft the winds blow,
When clear falls the moonlight,
When spring-tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom,
