On the Monday they all went off. As soon as they got out at the station, Mr. Merryweather said, “I can smell the sea,” and Mary said, “So can I,” but she couldn’t really. John very nearly cried again, because he thought the sea was something you saw, not just something you smelt, but Mary told him that to-morrow after breakfast he would really see it, Wouldn’t he, Mother? And Mrs. Merryweather said, Yes, it was too late now; better wait till to-morrow.
So they waited till to-morrow. As soon as they had finished breakfast, and they were all too excited to eat much (except Stephen, who could think just as well, whether he was eating or whether he wasn’t), Mary took them out. Mr. Merryweather stayed behind to read his paper, and Mrs. Merryweather stayed behind to see about dinner, because they knew they could trust Mary. Joan and Stephen walked in front, Joan chattering to Stephen, and Stephen thinking; then came Margaret, talking eagerly over her shoulder to Mary; and then came Mary holding John’s hand, and saying, “We’re nearly there, dear.”
Suddenly they turned the corner, and there they were.
Mary said proudly: “There, darling, there’s the sea.”
Margaret said: “Isn’t it lovely?”
Joan said: “Oh, look, Stephen!”
Stephen said nothing, of course.
And John opened his mouth to say something, turned very red, and burst into tears.
They were all very sorry for John—except Stephen, who was thinking of something else. The worst of it was that none of them knew what was the matter with him. Had he had too much breakfast? Or too little? Was he tired? Would he like Margaret to take him back? John couldn’t tell them. He didn’t know.
“What would you like to do, darling?” said Mary. “Shall we pick some lovely shells?”