But to Uncle Jesse those fifty years were but as yesterday when it is past . `` I walked the shore for months after that , '' he said sadly , `` looking to find her dear , sweet little body , but the sea never gave her back to me . But I 'll find her sometime . I wisht I could tell you just how she looked but I ca n't . I 've seen a fine silvery mist hanging over the Gate at sunrise that seemed like her -- and then again I 've seen a white birch in the woods back yander that made me think of her . She had pale brown hair and a little white face , and long slender fingers like yours , Mary , only browner , for she was a shore girl . Sometimes I wake up in the night and hear the sea calling to me in the old way and it seems as if lost Margaret called in it . And when there 's a storm and the waves are sobbing and moaning I hear her lamenting among them . And when they laugh on a gay day it 's her laugh -- lost Margaret 's sweet little laugh . The sea took her from me but some day I 'll find her , Mary . It ca n't keep us apart forever . '' I had not been long at Golden Gate before I saw Uncle Jesse 's `` life-book , '' as he quaintly called it . He needed no coaxing to show it and he proudly gave it to me to read . It was an old leather-bound book filled with the record of his voyages and adventures . I thought what a veritable treasure trove it would be to a writer . Every sentence was a nugget . In itself the book had no literary merit ; Uncle Jesse 's charm of story-telling failed him when he came to pen and ink ; he could only jot down roughly the outlines of his famous tales , and both spelling and grammar were sadly askew . But I felt that if anyone possessing the gift could take that simple record of a brave , adventurous life , reading between the bald lines the tale of dangers staunchly faced and duties manfully done , a wonderful story might be made from it . Pure comedy and thrilling tragedy were both lying hidden in Uncle Jesse 's `` life-book , '' waiting for the touch of the magician 's hand to waken the laughter and grief and horror of thousands . I thought of my cousin , Robert Kennedy , who juggled with words in a masterly fashion , but complained that he found it hard to create incidents or characters .
Here were both ready XXXXX his hand , but Robert was in Japan in the interests of his paper .
In among as at from like of that to with