Selected Stories Read Online Free Page A

chucked up from wrecks. Treasure. Why—you might find—”
    â€œBut why does Rags have to keep on pouring water in?” asked Lottie.
    â€œOh, that’s to moisten it,” said Pip, “to make the work a bit easier. Keep it up, Rags.”
    And good little Rags ran up and down, pouring in the water that turned brown like cocoa.
    â€œHere, shall I show you what I found yesterday?” said Pip mysteriously, and he stuck his spade into the sand. “Promise not to tell.”
    They promised.
    â€œSay, cross my heart straight dinkum.”
    The little girls said it.
    Pip took something out of his pocket, rubbed it a long time on the front of his jersey, then breathed on it and rubbed it again.
    â€œNow turn round!” he ordered.
    They turned round.
    â€œAll look the same way! Keep still! Now!”
    And his hand opened; he held up to the light something that flashed, that winked, that was a most lovely green.
    â€œIt’s a nemeral,” said Pip solemnly.
    â€œIs it really, Pip?” Even Isabel was impressed.
    The lovely green thing seemed to dance in Pip’s fingers. Aunt Beryl had a nemeral in a ring, but it was a very small one. This one was as big as a star and far more beautiful.
V
    As the morning lengthened whole parties appeared over the sand-hills and came down on the beach to bathe. It was understood that at eleven o’clock the women and children of the summer colony had the sea to themselves. First the women undressed, pulled on their bathing dresses and covered their heads in hideous caps like sponge-bags; then the children were unbuttoned. The beach was strewn with little heaps of clothes and shoes; the big summer hats, with stones on them to keep them from blowing away, looked like immense shells. It was strange that even the sea seemed to sound differently when all those leaping, laughing figures ran into the waves. Old Mrs. Fairfield, in a lilac cotton dress and a black hat tied under the chin, gathered her little brood and got them ready. The little Trout boys whipped their shirts over their heads, and away the five sped, while their grandma sat with one hand in her knitting-bag ready to draw out the ball of wool when she was satisfied they were safely in.
    The firm compact little girls were not half so brave as the tender, delicate-looking little boys. Pip and Rags, shivering, crouching down, slapping the water, never hesitated. But Isabel, who could swim twelve strokes, and Kezia, who could nearly swim eight, only followed on the strict understanding they were not to be splashed. As for Lottie, she didn’t follow at all. She liked to be left to go in her own way, please. And that way was to sit down at the edge of the water, her legs straight, her knees pressed together, and to make vague motions with her arms as if she expected to be wafted out to sea. But when a bigger wave than usual, an old whiskery one, came lolloping along in her direction, she scrambled to her feet with a face of horror and flew up the beach again.
    â€œHere, mother, keep these for me, will you?”
    Two rings and a thin gold chain were dropped into Mrs. Fairfield’s lap.
    â€œYes, dear. But aren’t you going to bathe here?”
    â€œNo-o,” Beryl drawled. She sounded vague. “I’m undressing further along. I’m going to bathe with Mrs. Harry Kember.”
    â€œVery well.” But Mrs. Fairfield’s lips set. She disapproved of Mrs. Harry Kember. Beryl knew it.
    Poor old mother, she smiled, as she skimmed over the stones. Poor old mother! Old! Oh, what joy, what bliss it was to be young. . . .
    â€œYou looked very pleased,” said Mrs. Harry Kember. She sat hunched up on the stones, her arms round her knees, smoking.
    â€œIt’s such a lovely day,” said Beryl, smiling down at her.
    â€œOh, my dear !” Mrs. Harry Kember’s voice sounded as though she knew better than that. But then her voice always sounded as though