green and silver waves (nay, all the beauties and all the wonders of
the world), make but a blurred picture to eyes that look through the
lens of tears. However, with a brown hand brisk and angry, he brushed
away these tears, like one who should say, 'This kind of thing will
never do.'

Indeed, so hardy was the boy's face--tanned by the sun, hardened and
bronzed by the wind, reddened by the brine--that tears seemed
entirely out of place there. The meaning of those tears must be fully
accounted for, and if possible fully justified, for this little boy
is to be the hero of this story. In other words, he is Henry Aylwin;
that is to say, myself: and those who know me now in the full vigour
of manhood, a lusty knight of the alpenstock of some repute, will be
surprised to know what troubled me. They will be surprised to know
that owing to a fall from the cliff I was for about two years a
cripple.

This is how it came about. Rough and yielding as were the paths,
called 'gangways,' connecting the cliffs with the endless reaches of
sand below, they were not rough enough, or yielding enough, or in any
way dangerous enough for me.

So I used to fashion 'gangways' of my own; I used to descend the
cliff at whatsoever point it pleased me, clinging to the lumps of
sandy earth with the prehensile power of a spider-monkey. Many a
warning had I had from the good fishermen and sea-folk, that some day
I should fall from top to bottom--fall and break my neck. A laugh was
my sole answer to these warnings; for, with the possession of perfect
health, I had inherited that instinctive belief in good luck which
perfect health will often engender.