THE   LIGHTHOUSE
seventy-five last March; Mr. Ramsay was
seventy-one. Macalister said he had never seen a
doctor; he had never lost a tooth. And that's the
way I'd like my children to live—Cam was sure
that her father was thinking that, for he stopped
her throwing a sandwich into the sea and told her,
as if he were thinking of the fishermen and how
they live, that if she did not want it she should
put it back in the parcel. She should not waste it.
He said it so wisely, as if he knew so well all the
things that happened in the world, that she put it
back at once, and then he gave her, from his own
parcel, a gingerbread nut, as if he were a great
Spanish gentleman, she thought, handing a flower
to a lady at a window (so courteous his manner
was). But he was shabby, and simple, eating
bread and cheese; and yet he was leading them
on a great expedition where, for all she knew,
they would be drowned.
" That was where she sunk," said Macalister's
boy suddenly.
" Three men were drowned where we are
now," said the old man. He had seen them
clinging to the mast himself. And Mr. Ramsay
taking a look at the spot was about, Janies and
Cam were afraid, to burst out;
But I beneath a rougher sea,
and if he did, they could not bear it; they would