But, sitting a little back, with his steady eyes looking outward, the firm lines of his face set toward the sea, was Tom. The lines might never curve into beauty with loving for me; but I loved him, and there was an end of it.

We went on to the second landing, went up to the hotel and down to the beach together. I had all my speech composed: a nice little prelude, which was gently and kindly to prepare the way; a clear, cogent, well-sustained argument; an eminently conclusive and satisfactory peroration. But those Fates! They tied us together in an affectionate little knot, that no one seemed to care or dare to untie. I cared, but dared not. So I walked between mother and Jack, close upon the heels of father, Tom, and Kittie. And the surges came rolling in and breaking beside us; the white sand sifted and burned around our feet, and the immeasurable beach led us on.

That ocean has a sort of elevated selfishness, a grand greediness, that takes one in, mind and soul, to the exclusion of other claimants. It infuses its own animus for the time being, intoxicates and absorbs. Sometimes just a few sweeps over a violin have the power to make slow blood flow faster, Puritan toes skip, and feet that never learned how, waltz giddily. The music of the ocean is the maddest dancing-tune I ever heard. If I could only have leaped, or screeched, or wrestled with something, I should have felt better. At the least I wanted to get the great foamy waves in my arms, or curl down on the sand and let them come up where I lay, for a frolic.

Kittie and I were both getting fidgety. In a moment she turned around and we exchanged sympathetic glances. In a moment more she was by my side, and my head bent down to hear her whis

per:

"If you were a little girl like me, and there wasn't anybody here but you and me, what would we do?"

"Go in wading," said I.

"Sure enough!" said I; and I took her hand and ran till we had left them all behind.

"Kittie and I are going in wading as soon as you are gone," I called back.

We ran until we were quite out of breath, and then sat down in the sand. Father, mother, Jack, and Tom were only four faint lines going back to the hotel. We watched them nearly there, and then unbuttoned our boots, pulled off our stockings, and went in.

Oh, the fun! to saunter up the beach, as if we had forgotten that the sea was near, talking about some far-off thing, and be surprised to have it dash its foam all over us. Oh, the fun! not to see it creeping, creeping, creeping up, and to go half wild with feigned affright because it caught and drew us in. Oh, the fun! to run to meet the waves, lose breath in their sudden clutch, to try and run away when they were running after, faster than our feet could fly. Oh, the fun! to make a goal of clam-shells, stand off upon the beach and challenge the proud waves; touch goal while they were rearing their white crests to come and beat us, and see them slink back in the sea ashamed. How we scorned the little waves that fluctuated between sea and shore, and how we hailed, with shouts that echoed far across the blue, the biggest of them all! Who cared for being drenched and drabbled, stiffened with sand and salt water!

But the beach, lying alongside the sea, is worthy of its place. It has painted shells to show, pink linings in its hollow stones, pebbles cut in wondrous shapes, weeds with daintiest leaves and branches, and a great, serene, white face. sand is very warm under the summer It dried our feet when we came up from playing with the waves.

sun.

Its

to father, and back to me again.

Again my head went down to listen.

mile at one time without thinking of the

sea.

We were hunting then for certain amber stones, smooth and oval, lit with a strange light as they lay shining in the sea-weed and the sand. They left their light behind them, and were only a dull yellowish-brown after we had taken them up and dried them on our sleeves. However, we had agreed to find thirty. I gathered my upper skirt into a bag, and when it held thirty we threw them all to the waves, and tried something else; tried being wicked pilgrims, with a gray rock for our doom, and hopping to it on one foot for our penance. When we reached the rock we sat and rested on it, slid from it to the sand, and rolled and rested, talked and dreamed..

We found white jack-stones and played a game or two, and then, lying with our faces upturned to the sky, we talked about the queer look it had worn all day; how it had been pink in the morning, and was red and sombre now; how it was getting darker in the horizon; how the darkness climbed and climbed until it reached the zenith, and how it cast a shadow on the beach.

We lay looking up a long, long while, marvelling at the gray lines that came and cut across the red, at the black clouds that peeped through for an outlook, liked the prospect, ventured farther, and frowned ugly shadows down,-marvelling how those shadows deepened on the beach and sea.

and ran, clinging to each other, across the shadow on the beach, on and on across the deepening, blackening shadow, down the beach that seemed to have no end.

Until our poor feet, blistered by the sand inside our stockings, gave out entirely, and we dropped down in a heap together and saw the lightning flash, heard the thunder roar, felt the wind sweep up and lash a huge wave over us as we lay there together, heard it shriek and laugh, felt the blinding sand stinging our cheeks, while we waited to be lightning struck.

We could scarcely see for the gusts of sand. We were drenched with the rain and the sea; deafened with the roar of the thunder above, the roar of the sea below, and the shrieking of the wind everywhere; nearly breathless with fright. But to lie and die there with Kittie, and mother and father and Tom waiting at home, was not to be thought of, except for one desperate moment. So I rallied the little pluck that the storm had not washed out of me, and tried to inspire Kittie with it.

Ain't it a bear in the woods?"

"It's thunder," I cried, starting up; "and oh, Kittie, we'll get caught out here in the awful thunder. And I never thought what made the sky so dark. Oh, hurry! hurry!"

Half crying, we two children-for I was always a child in a thunder-storm, with not a thought but to run and hide somewhere-pulled our stockings over the wet sand on our feet, buttoned our boots, that were full of sand too, in three places,

sible, accommodating grove. As treacherous a grove of evergreens as ever grew, I mistook it for a short cut home.

We plunged, Kittie and I, into the trees madly, tore a path for a short distance through the underbrush, and found that sinking sand was our foundation. Those trees had beguiled us into snares and pitfalls. They were growing in slippery sand that shifted and collapsed at every touch.

The lightning shivered through a tree, tore off a branch and flung it at our feet. We slid down hills of sand, lay in the depths and bewailed our plight. We climbed up mountains of sand, sliding back while we climbed, and the lightning

played its pranks in our faces. All the while those sheets of wet sand were lifted up by the fiendish wind and slapped against our cheeks, down our necks, and into our eyes. Each grain had the point of a needle. They pricked and stung, and the storm liked the fun and laughed away.

We made progress, for when we could see at all the hotel was larger than it had been, a little larger-being a little nearer -every time we looked.

Oh, that big valley of sand! And how we ever got into it I don't know. We went staggering blindly on, and went down lay there and cried, helpless and hopeless.

"O Kittie!" said I.

"O Gertie !" said she.

The trees that had tempted us thither leaned over the brink and laughed. The lightning found us out in our retreat, and the rain drenched us.

"O mother, mother!" Kittie cried. "O Tom, Tom!" I cried. "Tom, Tom, Tom!"

That last "Tom" brought an answer. We were not far from the hotel now, and Tom, listening for me, heard the cry.

"Gertie!" came back.

had taken for the day, Tom led us, and put us, side by side, upon a lounge.

There, children!" he said, "take breath; and don't cry any more, Kittie. Stop sobbing, Gertie; 'tisn't good for you. Poor little midgets! What did you come through the woods for?"

Everybody thought we were under shelter, he said, there being several places of retreat along the beach; told me to get off my wet clothes and Kittie's, while he went down-stairs, and to crawl into bed while they had the things dried-all of which would be done in no time.

Mother came up and carried our clothes down into the kitchen; came back and tucked Kittie and me in; poured hot tea down our throats, and sat and rocked by the bedside, crying a little, but very happy at heart.

In a short time our clothes came back, rough-dry, and we were allowed to get up and dress, go down to dinner, and be lionized.

As we sat at the table, I felt Tom's eyes, lifted mine quickly, and caughtonly a look; but it was the one I had seen in the door at home that morning. Jack, fond and true, looked his love over the table; and I remembered that awful

"Gertie, Gertie, where are you?"
"In the woods," I screamed.
"Keep on calling."

So I lay there in my misery, and cried just nothing but "Tom, Tom," over and over-" Tom, Tom, Tom!”

He found me by that dear clue. His own name led him on through the trees, hatless and blinded, but not deaf to me, defying the wind and the storm for me. "O Tom, Tom!"

"Give me your hands, dear."

He drew me up, drew Kittie up, kissed us both at once-there with the wind making fun-took one under each arm.

Out from the trees, across the yard, up the steps, into the hall, where a crowd was assembled, and mother stood crying, father alarmed, Jack amazed and questioning; up-stairs into the room we

died down there in the sand.

My heart was heavy and hard again, and the pain came back in my throat.

It had cleared away beautifully after the storm, and we went out on the piazza to watch for the boat. Tom left me to Jack. That old pain in his eyes, the disappointment again, made my duty easier to do.

"Jack," said I, as we stood off in one corner of the piazza, seeing the light come back to the sky; "Jack"-and my voice broke from very contrition.

He snatched both my hands, and I saw the radiance in his handsome face. "My darling," he began.

But I cried: "O Jack, you don't understand. I'm the meanest, hatefullest. falsest thing that ever lived. I don't love you, and I have just been deceitful."

He dropped my hands in blank wonder.