"Then find out right now," she said, lifting a hand full of the smooth pebbles while the tide seethed and hissed near them. She held out her hand to him.
"Pick out the prettiest," she said, and he began pulling them over with his forefinger.
"I love stones," she went on. "See how the ocean has polished them for us. Years and years of polishing has gone to these, and yet we can pick them up on a bright summer morning and have them for our own if we want them."
"There's one sort of green," said Bertie. "Green. That's like me. Uncle Nick says I'm green."
"Uncle Nick doesn't know everything," said Mrs. Lowell quietly, as she took the pebble he had chosen and, laying her handkerchief on the beach, placed the green pebble upon it. "Now, see if we can find some that you can see the light through. There is one now. See, that one is almost transparent. It is translucent. That is what translucent means. Isn't it a pretty word—and a pretty stone? Hold it up to your eye."
The boy obeyed, a slight look of interest coming into his face. Mrs. Lowell studying him realized what an attractive face his might be. It was as if the promising bud of a flower had been blighted in mid-opening.
"Let us put all the best pebbles on my handkerchief and take them home with us. Have you a father and mother, Bertie?"
"No."
"Do you remember them?"