The Tides of Barnegat

by Francis Hopkinson Smith

  CHAPTER IV

  ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK

  The merrymakings at Yardley continued for weeks, a new impetus andflavor being lent them by the arrival of two of Lucy's friends--herschoolmate and bosom companion, Maria Collins, of Trenton, and Maria'sdevoted admirer, Max Feilding, of Walnut Hill, Philadelphia.

  Jane, in her joy over Lucy's home-coming, and in her desire to meet hersister's every wish, gladly welcomed the new arrivals, although MissCollins, strange to say, had not made a very good impression upon her.Max she thought better of. He was a quiet, well-bred young fellow;older than either Lucy or Maria, and having lived abroad a year, knewsomething of the outside world. Moreover, their families had alwaysbeen intimate in the old days, his ancestral home being always open toJane's mother when a girl.

  The arrival of these two strangers only added to the general gayety.Picnics were planned to the woods back of Warehold to which the youngpeople of the town were invited, and in which Billy Tatham with histeam took a prominent part. Sailing and fishing parties outside ofBarnegat were gotten up; dances were held in the old parlor, and eventableaux were arranged under Max's artistic guidance. In one of theseMaria wore a Spanish costume fashioned out of a white lace shawlbelonging to Jane's grand-mother draped over her head and shoulders,and made the more bewitching by a red japonica fixed in her hair, andLucy appeared as a dairy-maid decked out in one of Martha's caps,altered to fit her shapely head.

  The village itself was greatly stirred.

  "Have you seen them two fly-up-the-creeks?" Billy Tatham, thestage-driver, asked of Uncle Ephraim Tipple as he was driving him downto the boat-landing.

  "No, what do they look like?"

  "The He-one had on a two-inch hat with a green ribbon and wore a whitebob-tail coat that 'bout reached to the top o' his pants. Looks like helived on water-crackers and milk, his skin's that white. The She-onehad a set o' hoops on her big as a circus tent. Much as I could do togit her in the 'bus--as it was, she come in sideways. And her trunk!Well, it oughter been on wheels--one o' them travellin' houses. Ithought one spell I'd take the old plug out the shafts and hook on toit and git it up that-a-way."

  "Some of Lucy's chums, I guess," chuckled Uncle Ephraim. "Miss Janetold me they were coming. How long are they going to stay?"

  "Dunno. Till they git fed up and fattened, maybe. If they was mine I'dhave killin' time to-day."

  Ann Gossaway and some of her cronies also gave free rein to theirtongues.

  "Learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did they?" broke out thedressmaker. (Lucy had been the only young woman in Warehold who hadever enjoyed that privilege.) "Wearin' each other's hats, rollin' roundin the sand, and hollerin' so you could hear 'em clear to thelighthouse. If I had my way I'd finish 'em, And that's where they'llgit if they don't mind, and quick, too!"

  The Dellenbaughs, Cromartins, and Bunsbys, being of another class,viewed the young couple's visit in a different light. "Mr. Feilding hassuch nice hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger MissCromartin said, and "Miss Collins is too sweet for anything." Prim Mr.Bunsby, having superior notions of life and deportment, only shook hishead. He looked for more dignity, he said; but then this Byronic youngman had not been invited to any of the outings.

  In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was the central figure. Herbeauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation andconventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes andthe way she wore them, all added to her popularity. In the swing andtoss of her freedom, her true temperament developed. She was like asummer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving theair she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as forthe new bound it gave to her blood. Just as she loved the sunlight forits warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. So, too,when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in thebeauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance,would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in greatdraughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking inthe honey of their petals.

  This was also true of her voice--a rich, full, vibrating voice, thatdominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her. Whenshe sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its ownovercharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul,as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody--because, too, shecould not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heartand could find their only outlet through the lips.

  Bart was her constant companion. Under his instructions she had learnedto hold the tiller in sailing in and out of the inlet; to swim overhand; to dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and to join inall his outdoor sports. Lucy had been his constant inspiration in allof this. She had surveyed the field that first night of their meetingand had discovered that the young man's personality offered the onlymaterial in Warehold available for her purpose. With him, or someonelike him--one who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick and strongand skilful (and Bart was all of these)--the success of her summerwould be assured. Without him many of her plans could not be carriedout.

  And her victory over him had been an easy one. Held first by the spellof her beauty and controlled later by her tact and stronger will, theyoung man's effrontery--almost impudence at times--had changed to acertain respectful subservience, which showed itself in his constanteffort to please and amuse her. When they were not sailing they wereback in the orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking togethernobody knew where. Often Bart would call for her immediately afterbreakfast, and the two would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day,Lucy arranging the details of the outing, and Bart entering into themwith a dash and an eagerness which, to a man of his temperament,cemented the bond between them all the closer. Had they been two fableddenizens of the wood--she a nymph and he a dryad--they could not havebeen more closely linked with sky and earth.

  As for Jane, she watched the increasing intimacy with alarm. She hadsuddenly become aroused to the fact that Lucy's love affair with Bartwas going far beyond the limits of prudence. The son of CaptainNathaniel Holt, late of the Black Ball Line of packets, would always bewelcome as a visitor at the home, the captain being an old and triedfriend of her father's; but neither Bart's education nor prospects,nor, for that matter, his social position--a point which usually hadvery little weight with Jane--could possibly entitle him to ask thehand of the granddaughter of Archibald Cobden in marriage. She began toregret that she had thrown them together. Her own ideas of reforminghim had never contemplated any such intimacy as now existed between theyoung man and her sister. The side of his nature which he had alwaysshown her had been one of respectful attention to her wishes; so muchso that she had been greatly encouraged in her efforts to makesomething more of him than even his best friends predicted could bedone; but she had never for one instant intended that her friendlyinterest should go any further, nor could she have conceived of such anissue.

  And yet Jane did nothing to prevent the meetings and outings of theyoung couple, even after Maria's and Max's departure.

  When Martha, in her own ever-increasing anxiety, spoke of the growingintimacy she looked grave, but she gave no indication of her ownthoughts. Her pride prevented her discussing the situation with the oldnurse and her love for Lucy from intervening in her pleasures.

  "She has been cooped up at school so long, Martha, dear," she answeredin extenuation, "that I hate to interfere in anything she wants to do.She is very happy; let her alone. I wish, though, she would return someof the calls of these good people who have been so kind to her. Perhapsshe will if you speak to her. But don't worry about Bart; that willwear itself out. All young girls must have their love-affairs."

  Jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity when she spoke about"wearing itself out," and Martha had gone to her room more dissatisfiedthan before. This feeling became all the more intense when, the nextday, from her window she watched Bart tying on Lucy's hat, puffing outthe big b
ow under her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings.Lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward Bart's, her prettylips near his own. There was a knot or a twist, or a collection ofknots and twists, or perhaps Bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passedbefore the hat could be fastened to suit either of them. Martha's headhad all this time been thrust out of the easement, her gaze apparentlyfixed on a birdcage hung from a hook near the shutter.

  Bart caught her eye and whispered to Lucy that that "old spy-cat" waswatching them; whereupon Lucy faced about, waved her hand to the oldnurse, and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out of sight,followed by Bart carrying a shawl for them to sit upon.

  After that Martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, kept watch, sofar as she could, upon their movements, without, as she thought,betraying herself: making excuses to go to the village when they twowent off together in that direction; traversing the orchard, ostensiblylooking for Meg when she knew all the time that the dog was soundasleep in the woodshed; or yielding to a sudden desire to give therascal a bath whenever Lucy announced that she and Bart were going tospend the morning down by the water.

  As the weeks flew by and Lucy had shown no willingness to assume hershare of any of the responsibilities of the house,--any that interferedwith her personal enjoyment,--Jane became more and more restless andunhappy. The older village people had shown her sister every attention,she said to herself,--more than was her due, considering heryouth,--and yet Lucy had never crossed any one of their thresholds. Sheagain pleaded with the girl to remember her social duties and to paysome regard to the neighbors who had called upon her and who had shownher so much kindness; to which the happy-hearted sister had laughedback in reply:

  "What for, you dear sister? These old fossils don't want to see me, andI'm sure I don't want to see them. Some of them give me the shivers,they are so prim."

  It was with glad surprise, therefore, that Jane heard Lucy say inMartha's hearing one bright afternoon:

  "Now, I'm going to begin, sister, and you won't have to scold me anymore. Everyone of these old tabbies I will take in a row: Mrs.Cavendish first, and then the Cromartins, and the balance of the bunchwhen I can reach them. I am going to Rose Cottage to see Mrs. Cavendishthis very afternoon."

  The selection of Mrs. Cavendish as first on her list only increasedJane's wonder. Rose Cottage lay some two miles from Warehold, near theupper end of the beach, and few of their other friends lived near it.Then again, Jane knew that Lucy had not liked the doctor's calling herinto the house the night of her arrival, and had heretofore made oneexcuse after another when urged to call on his mother. Her delight,therefore, over Lucy's sudden sense of duty was all the more keen.

  "I'll go with you, darling," she answered, slipping her arm aboutLucy's waist, "and we'll take Meg for a walk."

  So they started, Lucy in her prettiest frock and hat and Jane with herbig red cloak over her arm to protect the young girl from the breezefrom the sea, which in the early autumn was often cool, especially ifthey should sit out on Mrs. Cavendish's piazza.

  The doctor's mother met them on the porch. She had seen them enter thegarden gate, and had left her seat by the window, and was standing onthe top step to welcome them. Rex, as usual, in the doctor's absence,did the honors of the office. He loved Jane, and always sprang straightat her, his big paws resting on her shoulders. These courtesies,however, he did not extend to Meg. The high-bred setter had no othersalutation for the clay-colored remnant than a lifting of his nose, atightening of his legs, and a smothered growl when Meg ventured toonear his lordship.

  "Come up, my dear, and let me look at you," were Mrs. Cavendish's firstwords of salutation to Lucy. "I hear you have quite turned the heads ofall the gallants in Warehold. John says you are very beautiful, and youknow the doctor is a good judge, is he not, Miss Jane?" she added,holding out her hands to them both. "And he's quite right; you are justlike your dear mother, who was known as the Rose of Barnegat longbefore you were born. Shall we sit here, or will you come into mylittle salon for a cup of tea?" It was always a salon to Mrs.Cavendish, never a "sitting-room."

  "Oh, please let me sit here," Lucy answered, checking a rising smile atthe word, "the view is so lovely," and without further comment or anyreference to the compliments showered upon her, she took her seat uponthe top step and began to play with Rex, who had already offered tomake friends with her, his invariable habit with well-dressed people.

  Jane meanwhile improved the occasion to ask the doctor's mother aboutthe hospital they were building near Barnegat, and whether she and oneor two of the other ladies at Warehold would not be useful as visitors,and, perhaps, in case of emergency, as nurses.

  While the talk was in progress Lucy sat smoothing Rex's silky ears,listening to every word her hostess spoke, watching her gestures andthe expressions that crossed her face, and settling in her mind for alltime, after the manner of young girls, what sort of woman the doctor'smother might be; any opinions she might have had two years before beingnow outlawed by this advanced young woman in her present maturejudgment.

  In that comprehensive glance, with the profound wisdom of her seventeensummers to help her, she had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Cavendishwas a high-strung, nervous, fussy little woman of fifty, with anoutward show of good-will and an inward intention to rip everybody upthe back who opposed her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of herson, and determined, if she could manage it, to break off hisattachment for Jane, no matter at what cost. This last Lucy caught froma peculiar look in the little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornfulcurve of the lower lip as she listened to Jane's talk about thehospital, all of which was lost on "plain Jane Cobden," as the doctor'smother invariably called her sister behind her back.

  Then the young mind-reader turned her attention to the house andgrounds and the buildings lying above and before her, especially to theway the matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over the roofand dormers. Later on she listened to Mrs. Cavendish's description ofits age and ancestry: How it had come down to her from her grandfather,whose large estate was near Trenton, where as a girl she had spent herlife; how in those days it was but a small villa to which old NicholasErskine, her great-uncle, would bring his guests when the August daysmade Trenton unbearable; and how in later years under the big treesback of the house and over the lawn--"you can see them from where yousit, my dear"--tea had been served to twenty or more of "the firstgentlemen and ladies of the land."

  Jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and so had every othervisitor at Rose Cottage, but to Lucy it was only confirmation of herlatter-day opinion of her hostess. Nothing, however, could be moregracious than the close attention which the young girl gave Mrs.Cavendish's every word when the talk was again directed to her, bendingher pretty head and laughing at the right time--a courtesy which socharmed the dear lady that she insisted on giving first Lucy, and thenJane, a bunch of roses from her "own favorite bush" before the twogirls took their leave.

  With these evidences of her delight made clear, Lucy pushed Rex fromher side--he had become presuming and had left the imprint of his dustypaw upon her spotless frock--and with the remark that she had othervisits to pay, her only regret being that this one was so short, shegot up from her seat on the step, called Meg, and stood waiting forJane with some slight impatience in her manner.

  Jane immediately rose from her chair. She had been greatly pleaded atthe impression Lucy had made. Her manner, her courtesy, her respect forthe older woman, her humoring her whims, show her to be the daughter ofa Cobden. As to her own place during the visit, she had never given ita thought. She would always be willing to act as foil to heraccomplished, brilliant sister if by so doing she could make otherpeople love Lucy the more.

  As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs. Cavendish precedingthem, Jane lingered for a moment and gave a hurried glance about her.There stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown himself sooften when tired out. There, too, was the closet where he hung his coatand hat, and th
e desk covered with books and papers. A certain feelingof reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession of her, as whenone enters a sanctuary in the absence of the priest. For an instant shepassed her hand gently over the leather back of the chair where hishead rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then her eyes wandered overthe room, noting each appointment in detail. Suddenly a sense ofinjustice rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of beauty hadever been added to these plain surroundings; even the plants in theboxes by the windows looked half faded. With a quick glance at the opendoor she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, leaned over, andwith the feeling of a devotee laying an offering on the altar, placedthe flower hurried on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs.Cavendish.

  Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every now and then turned tothe sea. When she and Jane had reached the cross-road that branched offtoward the beach--it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's windows--Lucysaid:

  "The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay any more visits,sister. Suppose I go to the beach and give Meg a bath. You won't mind,will you? Come, Meg!"

  "Oh, how happy you will make him!" cried Jane. "But you are not dressedwarm enough, dearie. You know how cool it gets toward evening. Here,take my cloak. Perhaps I'd better go with you--"

  "No, do you keep on home. I want to see if the little wretch will becontented with me alone. Good-by," and without giving her sister timeto protest, she called to Meg, and with a wave of her hand, the redcloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the beach, Meg boundingafter her.

  Jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes on the graceful figureskipping along the road, her head and shoulders in silhouette againstthe blue sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of thesand-dune. All the mother-love in her heart welled up in her breast.She was so proud of her, so much in love with her, so thankful for her!All these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon be over andBart and the others like him out of Lucy's mind and heart. Why worryabout it? Some great strong soul would come by and by and take thischild in his arms and make a woman of her. Some strong soul--

  She stopped short in her walk and her thoughts went back to the redrose lying on the doctor's desk.

  "Will he know?" she said to herself; "he loves flowers so, and I don'tbelieve anybody ever puts one on his desk. Poor fellow! how hard heworks and how good he is to everybody! Little Tod would have died butfor his tenderness." Then, with a prayer in her heart and a new lightin her eyes, she kept on her way.

  Lucy, as she bounded along the edge of the bluff, Meg scurrying afterher, had never once lost sight of her sister's slender figure. When aturn in the road shut her from view, she crouched down behind asand-dune, waited until she was sure Jane would not change her mind andjoin her, and then folding the cloak over her arm, gathered up herskirts and ran with all her speed along the wet sand to the House ofRefuge. As she reached its side, Bart Holt stepped out into theafternoon light.

  "I thought you'd never come, darling," he said, catching her in hisarms and kissing her.

  "I couldn't help it, sweetheart. I told sister I was going to see Mrs.Cavendish, and she was so delighted she said she would go, too."

  "Where is she?" he interrupted, turning his head and looking anxiouslyup the beach.

  "Gone home. Oh, I fixed that. I was scared to death for a minute, butyou trust me when I want to get off."

  "Why didn't you let her take that beast of a dog with her? We don'twant him," he rejoined, pointing to Meg, who had come to a suddenstandstill at the sight of Bart.

  "Why, you silly! That's how I got away. She thought I was going to givehim a bath. How long have you been waiting, my precious?" Her hand wason his shoulder now, her eyes raised to his.

  "Oh, 'bout a year. It really seems like a year, Luce" (his pet name forher), "when I'm waiting for you. I was sure something was up. Wait tillI open the door." The two turned toward the house.

  "Why! can we get in? I thought Fogarty, the fisherman, had the key,"she asked, with a tone of pleasant surprise in her voice.

  "So he has," he laughed. "Got it now hanging up behind his clock. Iborrowed it yesterday and had one made just like it. I'm of age." Thiscame with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of triumph.

  Lucy smiled. She liked his daring; she liked, too, his resources. Whena thing was to be done, Bart always found the way to do it. She waiteduntil he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, her hand inhis.

  "Now, come inside," he cried, swinging wide the big doors. "Isn't it ajolly place?" He slipped his arm about her and drew her to him. "See,there's the stove with the kindling-wood all ready to light whenanything comes ashore, and up on that shelf are life-preservers; andhere's a table and some stools and a lantern--two of 'em; and there'sthe big life-boat, all ready to push out. Good place to come Sundayswith some of the fellows, isn't it? Play all night here, and not a soulwould find you out," he chuckled as he pointed to the different things."You didn't think, now, I was going to have a cubby-hole like this tohide you in where that old spot-cat Martha can't be watching us, didyou?" he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing her with asudden intensity.

  Lucy slipped from his arms and began examining everything with thegreatest interest. She had never seen anything but the outside of thehouse before and she always wondered what it contained, and as a childhad stood up on her toes and tried to peep in through the crack of thebig door. When she had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, andwondered whether the fire could be lighted quick enough, and picturedin her mind the half-drowned people huddled around it in theirsea-drenched clothes, she moved to the door. Bart wanted her to sitdown inside, but she refused.

  "No, come outside and lie on the sand. Nobody comes along here," sheinsisted. "Oh, see how beautiful the sea is! I love that green," anddrawing Jane's red cloak around her, she settled herself on the sand,Bart throwing himself at her feet.

  The sun was now nearing the horizon, and its golden rays fell acrosstheir faces. Away off on the sky-line trailed the smoke of an incomingsteamer; nearer in idled a schooner bound in to Barnegat Inlet withevery sail set. At their feet the surf rose sleepily under the gentlepressure of the incoming tide, its wavelets spreading themselves inwidening circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant girl.

  As they sat and talked, filled with the happiness of being alone, theireyes now on the sea and now looking into each other's, Meg, who hadamused himself by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the sand-snipeand digging holes in the sand for imaginary muskrats, lifted his headand gave a short yelp. Bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit ofdriftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches. Thenarrowness of the escape silenced the dog and sent him to the rear withdrooping tail and ears.

  Bart should have minded Meg's warning. A broad beach in the full glareof the setting sun, even when protected by a House of Refuge, is a poorplace to be alone in.

  A woman was passing along the edge of the bluffs, carrying a basket inone hand and a green umbrella in the other; a tall, thin, angularwoman, with the eye of a ferret. It was Ann Gossaway's day for visitingthe sick, and she had just left Fogarty's cabin, where little Tod, withhis throat tied up in red flannel, had tried on her mitts and playedwith her spectacles. Miss Gossaway had heard Meg's bark and had beenaccorded a full view of Lucy's back covered by Jane's red cloak, withBart sitting beside her, their shoulders touching.

  Lovers with their heads together interested the gossip no longer,except as a topic to talk about. Such trifles had these many yearspassed out of the dress-maker's life.

  So Miss Gossaway, busy with her own thoughts, kept on her way unnoticedby either Lucy or Bart.

  When she reached the cross-road she met Doctor John driving in. Hetightened the reins on the sorrel and stopped.

  "Lovely afternoon, Miss Gossaway. Where are you from--looking at thesunset?"

  "No, I ain't got no time for spoonin'. I might be if I was Miss Janeand Bart Holt. Just see 'em a spell ago squattin' down
behind the Houseo' Refuge. She wouldn't look at me. I been to Fogarty's; she's on mylist this week, and it's my day for visitin', fust in two weeks. Thattwo-year-old of hers is all right ag'in after your sewing him up;they'll never get over tellin' how you set up all night with him. Youought to hear Mrs. Fogarty go on--'Oh, the goodness of him!'" and shemimicked the good woman's dialect. "'If Tod'd been his own child hecouldn't a-done more for him.' That's the way she talks. I heard,doctor, ye never left him till daylight. You're a wonder."

  The doctor touched his hat and drove on.

  Miss Gossaway's sharp, rasping voice and incisive manner of speakinggrated upon him. He liked neither her tone nor the way in which shespoke of the mistress of Yardley. No one else dared as much. If Janewas really on the beach and with Bart, she had some good purpose in hermind. It may have been her day for visiting, and Bart, perhaps, hadaccompanied her. But why had Miss Gossaway not met Miss Cobden atFogarty's, his being the only cabin that far down the beach? Then hisface brightened. Perhaps, after all, it was Lucy whom she had seen. Hehad placed that same red cloak around her shoulders the night of thereception at Yardley--and when she was with Bart, too.

  Mrs. Cavendish was sitting by her window when the doctor entered hisown house. She rose, and putting down her book, advanced to meet him.

  "You should have come earlier, John," she said with a laugh; "such acharming girl and so pretty and gracious. Why, I was quite overcome.She is very different from her sister. What do you think Miss Janewants to do now? Nurse in the new hospital when it is built! Prettyposition for a lady, isn't it?"

  "Any position she would fill would gain by her presence," said thedoctor gravely. "Have they been gone long?" he asked, changing thesubject. He never discussed Jane Cobden with his mother if he couldhelp it.

  "Oh, yes, some time. Lucy must have kept on home, for I saw Miss Janegoing toward the beach alone."

  "Are you sure, mother?" There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

  "Yes, certainly. She had that red cloak of hers with her and thatmiserable little dog; that's how I know. She must be going to staylate. You look tired, my son; have you had a hard day?" added she,kissing him on the cheek.

  "Yes, perhaps I am a little tired, but I'll be all right. Have youlooked at the slate lately? I'll go myself," and he turned and enteredhis office.

  On the slate lay the rose. He picked it up and held it to his nose in apreoccupied way.

  "One of mother's," he said listlessly, laying it back among his papers."She so seldom does that sort of thing. Funny that she should havegiven it to me to-day; and after Miss Jane's visit, too." Then he shutthe office door, threw himself into his chair, and buried his face inhis hands. He was still there when his mother called him to supper.

  When Lucy reached home it was nearly dark. She came alone, leaving Bartat the entrance to the village. At her suggestion they had avoided themain road and had crossed the marsh by the foot-path, the dog boundingon ahead and springing at the nurse, who stood in the gate awaitingLucy's return.

  "Why, he's as dry as a bone!" Martha cried, stroking Meg's rough hairwith her plump hand. "He didn't get much of a bath, did he?"

  "No, I couldn't get him into the water. Every time I got my hand on himhe'd dart away again."

  "Anybody on the beach, darlin'?"

  "Not a soul except Meg and the sandsnipe."