“And sand,” said Margaret.
“And rocks,” said Joan. “And pools.”
“SHELLS—SAND—ROCKS—POOLS,” wrote Mr. Merryweather on his cuff. “Anything else?”
John tried to speak once or twice, but nothing happened.
“Yes, darling?” said his Mother.
“Thea,” said John faintly.
“AND SEA,” wrote Mr. Merryweather. “And what do you want, Stephen?”
Stephen was four. He thought a good deal, but never said anything, so if it hadn’t been for Joan, nobody would ever have known what he wanted.
“Stephen wants the same as me, don’t you, Stephen?” said Joan quickly.
Stephen nodded. He was thinking of something else.