"It is low enough," she said. "Let us go down there, Sylvia. I want to show you the pools."
Leaving their books and papers covered from the breeze with a shawl, the girls climbed down the rough rocks.
"We call this the giant's bath-tub," said Edna, when they reached an oblong hollow rock brimming with brine.
"I'd hate to take a bath with some of those creatures," remarked Sylvia, her eyes on certain small objects of various shapes.
"I, too; and see how crusted the rock is with barnacles. How their edges do cut! Dear little things, they'll go to sleep now till the tide comes back again."
"Go to sleep!" laughed Sylvia. "As if they were anything but gray stones!"
"Indeed, you are mistaken. I wonder if I could wake one of those fellows up," and Miss Derwent splashed water over one of the stony clusters. They remained lifeless.
"The tide has left them too recently," she said. "They're not hungry."
"Oh, Edna,—I mean Miss Derwent."
"No, call me Edna. I'd like you to. Sometimes I can make them open those stiff shells and put out five little fingers to gather in their food."