Rose and Sprite pretended to be making a great effort to keep still, but the task was evidently too much for them, and after a few seconds of silence, Rose laughed, Sprite echoed, and then Polly laughed because they did.
"Oh, you two can't keep from talking," she said, "and neither can I, that is, not for very long, but I did keep still until I put the tenth shell on the string, and I'll put it in this little box. There, now I'll listen, for I know you've something to tell."
The three little friends were now sitting on the long garden seat, the tall shrubs behind them making a cool shade.
Mr. Sherwood had had the space inside the fine wall filled with rich loam, so that inside the garden gate was a genuine country garden, while outside the wall lay the sandy beach, and the surf, and spray.
The flowers in the garden seemed to like the breezes from the sea, for their colors were glowing, and their perfume sweet.
"There's such queer news this morning," Sprite said. "First, a sailor that Pa knows came up from the wharf, and he said a vessel got 'way out to sea, when they found a boy had hidden himself on board, a regular stowaway, and the first fishing smack they met, that was heading for Cliffmore, took him aboard and brought him back, and who do you think that was?"
"Why, how could we ever guess?" Polly asked in surprise.
"Well, that was John Selby, the grocer's boy. You know the store over at the Center," said Sprite, "and I guess you've seen the boy. He's 'bout fourteen, and has red hair, and he's the one that helps deliver goods from his father's store."
Yes, they remembered him.
Good-tempered, happy-go-lucky John Selby. What could have tempted him to leave home, and become a stowaway? Sprite knew why he had done it.