About this story
Your father is already certain it will not be, seconding the barometer over your hope, while his disciple Tansley agrees a little too readily. As your mother packs a parcel for the keeper's boy, you press your case across the dinner table and watch the instrument's dial for a verdict the weather has not yet given. Night falls with the question still undecided, rain ticking against the glass.
How it opens
The lighthouse stood across the bay, pale against water bright with late summer.
Mrs RamsayYes, James, if tomorrow is fine, we shall go and take them presents.
You held the cut picture of a refrigerator steady beneath your mother's scissors.
But the weather will not be fine.
Charles TansleyThe barometer is falling, Mrs Ramsay; there can be no landing.
Choose
The sky is clear now, and they may both be wrong.
I wish Father would let tomorrow arrive before judging it.