We can never pierce its infinite mystery -- we may only wander , awed and spellbound , on the outer fringe of it . The woods call to us with a hundred voices , but the sea has one only -- a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music . The woods are human , but the sea is of the company of the archangels . Anne and Gilbert found Uncle Jim sitting on a bench outside the lighthouse , putting the finishing touches to a wonderful , full-rigged , toy schooner . He rose and welcomed them to his abode with the gentle , unconscious courtesy that became him so well . `` This has been a purty nice day all through , Mistress Blythe , and now , right at the last , it 's brought its best . Would you like to sit down here outside a bit , while the light lasts ? I 've just finished this bit of a plaything for my little grand nephew , Joe , up at the Glen . After I promised to make it for him I was kinder sorry , for his mother was vexed . She 's afraid he 'll be wanting to go to sea later on and she does n't want the notion encouraged in him . But what could I do , Mistress Blythe ? I 'd PROMISED him , and I think it 's sorter real dastardly to break a promise you make to a child . Come , sit down . It wo n't take long to stay an hour . '' The wind was off shore , and only broke the sea 's surface into long , silvery ripples , and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it , from every point and headland , like transparent wings . The dusk was hanging a curtain of violet gloom over the sand dunes and the headlands where gulls were huddling . The sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs of silken vapor . Cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons . An evening star was watching over the bar . `` Is n't that a view worth looking at ? ''
said Captain XXXXX , with a loving , proprietary pride .
Jim Joe day evening gulls hour lighthouse plaything right sorter