And now, the time of our stay on the cape was drawing to a close. Only
three days more remained, and they were to be occupied in collecting our
books, packing trunks, and all the unpleasant little duties that become
so tedious and dispiriting when, like a drop curtain, they announce the
end of the play.
Perhaps if the days of our cape life had been prolonged, we should have
regretted the detention from home, and yearned for our dear parents,
looking on the cape, that had already lost some of its attractions, as
soon to become a dreary point beaten by winter winds and seas and
drifted across by the snow. But because we _must_ go, therefore it was
hard to go. What cannot be done, cannot be had, cannot be reached--that
is just what the boy wants. As we could not yet actually realise the
desolateness and barrenness of winter there, but only remember the
delights and beauties of summer and autumn, we lost cheerfulness over
the boxes and trunks, and sighed because of the brick walls, narrow
streets, and toilsome school-work that were soon to bound our lives.
On a Wednesday we had been for our last afternoon's shooting on the
moor. Our tutors had walked round to return their guns to the lenders
over in the town. We strolled to the house through the fast fading
afternoon light, talking of the memorable events in our half-year just
closing.
"Now, I think," said Drake, "that our boat-race was the best fun of
all."
"I don't," Alf answered, "though we had a good time then, I know; but
what is there to compare with the cruise and shipwreck?--the excitement
lasted so long and came out all right."
"Yes, it came out all right, but there was only a tight squeak that it
did not go all wrong. I tell you what, fellows, I was horribly
frightened that night, before we struck on Boatswain's Reef," said
Harry.