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188 TO THE LIGHTHOUSEenough, after fidgeting a second or two, he said some-thing sharp to Macalister’s boy, who got out his oarsand began to row. But their father, they knew,would never be content until they were flying along.He would keep looking for a breeze, fidgeting, sayingthings under his breath, which Macalister and Mac-alister’s boy would overhear, and they would both bemade horribly uncomfortable. He had made themcome. He had forced them to come. In their angerthey hoped that the breeze would never rise, that hemight be thwarted in every possible way, since hehad forced them to come against their wills.

All the way down to the beach they had laggedbehind together, though he bade them ‘Walk up,walk up,’ without speaking. Their heads were bentdown, their heads were pressed down by some re-morseless gale. Speak to him they could not. Theymust come; they must follow. They must walk be-hind him carrying brown paper parcels. But theyvowed, in silence, as they walked, to stand by eachother and carry out the great compact—to resisttyranny to the death. So there they would sit, oneat one end of the boat, one at the other, in silence.They would say nothing, only look at him now andthen where he sat with his legs twisted, frowning andfidgeting, and pishing and pshawing and mutteringthings to himself, and waiting impatiently for abreeze. And they hoped it would be calm. Theyhoped he would be thwarted. They hoped the wholeexpedition would fail, and they would have to putback, with their parcels, to the beach.

But now, when Macalister’s boy had rowed a littleway out, the sails slowly swung round, the boat