A sandy tramp of a few hundred yards over the dunes and sparse gray sea-scrub brought them to the lunching spot. Here, half covered over with drifting sand, was a long padlocked pine box. Roy produced a key and opened it. This was the cache, the Beardsleys explained; they and the children came here every Sunday and they kept a few things stowed away in the box. Nobody ever disturbed them. This was their own little sandy domain, and they referred to it always as San Salvador. The box disclosed a tall faded, beach umbrella which was immediately unfurled and planted upright in the sand; then there was a piece of clean canvas, some straw cushions, and an iron grill. The canvas was spread under the umbrella; Roy made Jeannette seat herself on one of the cushions, and he propped a board at an angle behind her so that she might lean back against it and be comfortable; then she was given Ralph to hold and to feed from his bottle. The others proceeded to busy themselves with preparations for lunch. Etta was quite able to look out for herself, Alice assured her sister, and the baby would be off in ten minutes.
An expedition for driftwood was inaugurated and presently a large pile of smoothly rounded bleached sticks, branches and blocks of wood was heaped near at hand. The lunch consisted of hot cocoa and chops which were to be grilled, and some round flat bakery buns to be split in half and toasted. In a few moments there was a brisk, snapping fire leaping up through the bars of the grill; a large saucepan and the milk appeared, the buns impaled on the points of sticks were set to toasting; at the last moment the chops were to be put on to broil.
A heavenly felicity stole over Jeannette as she sat in the shade of the umbrella, the baby in her arms, watching the scene. The Atlantic thundered in in great arcs of green water, foamed-crested, which crashed magnificently in round curling splathers of spray, and slid swiftly, smoothly, reachingly up the flat beach to slink back again upon themselves as if deriding these harmless, picnicking people were not the victims for which they sought. Seaweed littered the beach in long whip lashes and bulbous bottles, and seabirds picked their way about in it, and pecked at sand fleas; gulls soared in wide circles above their heads, squawking ugly cries, or skimmed the wave-tops hunting fish. Far out upon the bosom of the ocean a steamer left a long scarf of smoke against an azure sky. The salt air from the sea was scented with the fragrant odor of the beachwood fire.
Little Ralph lay inertly in Jeannette’s arms sucking greedily at his bottle until the last of it had to be tilted up against his mouth. At this stage his eyelids began to drift shut and his head to hang heavily in the crook of her elbow. He was a cunning child, his aunt thought, critically studying him. He resembled his father with a closeness that was ludicrous: a small replica, with the same small mouth, the same whimsical smile and unruly, tawny hair. His skin was like satin,—delicately tinted,—and against its faint pinkness his long-fringed lashes lay like tiny feathery fans. His weight against her breast felt pleasant to her; he seemed so trusting, so certain of protection, as he lay sleeping thus, a scrap of humanity confident of the world’s love. A sudden tenderness came to the woman; she bent down and kissed the damp forehead at the edge of the child’s yellow hair.
The entrancing smell of crisply broiling meat and toasting bread assailed her.
“Uuum—m,” she said hungrily, and raising her head she observed Martin watching her. Puzzled a moment by the intentness of his gaze, her eyes widened inquiringly, but he only shook his head at her pleasantly and grinned. There was love in his look and it thrilled her as evidence of any affection from him never failed to do.
She gently laid the baby on the strip of canvas, arranged a rumpled little pillow beneath his head, spread a square of netting over him to keep flies from bothering him, weighing down its corners with a few beach pebbles, and joined the others about the fire, where presently they were all munching with gluttonous cries of delight. Never was there better food! Never was there anything so delicious! A bite of grilled chop and a bite of crisp buttery bun! Their appetites were on edge; they grunted in satisfying them. Another cup of hot cocoa, please,—and, yes,—another chop,—just one more,—but this must positively be the last!
As the fire died away, they lay back upon the sand, replete, heavy with food, bathed in pleasant warmth. Etta, stripped of all clothing but a diminutive under-shirt, played in the sand and squatted on her heels on the edge of the wave-rips, uttering gurgling cries of fright when her toes were wet. Drowsiness and bodily comfort wrapped the others’ senses; a feeling of openness,—sky, land and ocean,—beguiled them; the breakers pounded and swished musically up the beach; sea-birds lifted plaintive cries; the faint breeze was redolent of salt and kelp; the sun’s heat warm and caressing.
Jeannette awoke deliciously; Martin was bending over her; he had kissed her, and now he was smiling down at her.
“Come on,” he said, “we’re all going swimming.”