teresting is that you can see it changing so quickly, and changes always make people think. Ten years ago the Roslyn Estates were a forgotten little woodland, almost like the forest of Arden that Shakespeare wrote about. Ten years from now—in 1937—they will be a genteel suburb that shaves every morning.
Bar Beach comes into this story, because Bar Beach is famous for one thing; but you will have to be patient a few minutes to see just how.
There was a man who was particularly fond of the dark. He had a big front porch built on the side of a hill, so that it was high up among the trees, and from that porch, at night, he could see a fine speckle of stars. Every evening before he went to bed he used to go out, like the captain on the bridge of a ship, and make sure that the stars were all right. He did not know much about them, did not even know many of them by name, but still he was pleased that they were there. He liked to see how Cassiopeia and the Great Bear play tag with each other, going round and round the Pole Star. In winter he specially admired Orion with his dancing sprawl across the western
