"Why, lots o' water. I haven't never seen it—more's the pity—but folks say it's grand—all a-splashin' and a-dashin', with white spray flyin' through the air."
"What's spray?" asked Ailie.
"Well, I don't know as I could say 'xactly, but I fancy it's a bit like mother's soap-suds when she washes up," said Hor confidentially.
"Soap-suds ain't pretty a bit," said Ailie.
"Spray's pretty, if soap isn't—I know that. Lettie, here, don't care for me to talk about the sea. It's the country she wants—eh, Lettie?"
"I'd like a lot o' green ever so much," said Lettie.
"See if I don't get you a real plant some o' these days, and a nice red flower, all for yourself, Lettie."
"I'd a deal rather it should be white," murmured Lettie wistfully. "Mayn't it, Hor?"
"I'd have it red, if I was you," said Ailie, with eager eyes—"ever such a bright red—like—like—oh, like a man's coat."
"Like a soldier's coat," suggested Hor. "Lettie likes white flowers best, ye see."