Everything
was new and strange--blazing sun with a wind that made you as cool as
a cucumber; crowds and crowds of people, Salvation Army band,
procession of volunteers; and the pier, the streamers, the sea--and
the _sands_.
Rachel scarcely glanced at Ocean's face: the sands were enough for
her. They got away from the crowd, and played on the sands. Dale was
so jolly with the children, running about, sportively chasing them,
hunting for shells, popping the buds of seaweed; while Mavis sat on a
dry bit of rock, looking large, red, overblown, and adored her family.
The little boy soon became, frankly, a nuisance, wanting his sister's
shells, refusing to catch daddy, wishing to paddle in his boots; and
Dale, testy at last, very hot and perspiring said: "Ma lad, if you
wear out my patience, you'll suffer for your conduct."
Then, almost at the same moment, Dale's top hat blew off; and a mad
chase ensued. The hat, like a live thing with the devil in it,
bounded and curvetted wildly, doubled away from Dale, dodged Rachel,
and sprang right over Norah's head, threatening to make for the open
sea. Mavis had scrambled up; and she stood on the rock, a tragic
figure, with a finger to her lip, watching the hat chase distractedly.
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