Well, I changed my wet clothes, and for the rest of that day I was as meek as a lamb. I sat down, and got up, and answered, and talked to the Ervengs as nearly in Nora's manner as I could imitate. Perhaps they liked it, but I didn't; I was having the pokiest kind of a time, and I was so homesick that I cried myself to sleep again that night.
Mind you, I wouldn't have our boys and Nora know this for a kingdom!
The next few days were more agreeable; the people from the other cottages on the beach came to call on Mrs. Erveng, and while she was entertaining them, Hilliard and I went for walks or sat on the sands. As I've told you before, he isn't at all a wonderful sort of boy,—except for queerness,—and he always will be a poke; but sometimes he's rather nice, and he is certainly polite. He knows the beach well,—he ought to, he's been here nearly every summer of his life, and he is eighteen years old,—and he showed me everything there was to see. There were no more accidents under his guidance; and no wonder,—he is caution itself.
There was only one part of the beach that he did not take me, and that was where a tall pointed rock stood, that was separated from the others by a rather wide strip of sand. I thought it looked interesting; I could see what looked in the distance like the arched entrance to a cave in the side of the rock. I would like to have gone to look at it, but every time I proposed it, Hilliard turned the conversation. "Some day we'll investigate it," he said at last; "but don't ever go over there alone,—it is a dangerous place." According to him, the whole beach was dangerous; so I made up my mind that I would "investigate" for myself at the first opportunity that offered.
While we rested on the sands, Hilliard would read aloud to me,—he likes to read aloud. Neither Phil nor I care as much for books as do the others in the family; but to be polite, I did not tell Hilliard that I am not fond of being read to; to me it always seems so slow. At first I used to look at the ocean and make up thoughts about it, so that I hardly heard any of what he was reading; but after a while I began to listen, and then, really, I got quite interested.
We were sitting in the shade of the rocks one very warm afternoon,—Hilliard was reading aloud,—when there came a sudden peal of thunder, and presently a flash of lightning. "Oh, we're going to have a storm!" I exclaimed. "I am so glad! now I can see the ocean in a storm,—you said it was magnificent then. Why, what are you doing?"
"We must get in the house as quickly as possible." Hilliard rose to his feet as he spoke, and began hastily gathering up the books and cushions, and the big sun umbrella.
"But the rain hasn't come yet, and I do want to watch the water,—see, it's beginning to get white-caps," I said. "We can reach the house in a few minutes."
As I spoke there was another flash of lightning and a long roll of thunder, but neither was severe. To my great astonishment Hilliard shrank back against the rock, and shielded his face with the cushion he held in his hand; I could see that he was very pale. "Oh, come, come!" he begged; "oh, let us get to the house at once!"
"What!" I flashed out scornfully, "are you afraid of a thunder storm?"