"As if anything could be more like the ocean than the ocean itself," giggled Tilly.
Mr. Hartley laughed good-naturedly.
"Never mind, Miss Bertha," he nodded. "Just you wait till there's a little more wind, and you'll see some waves, I reckon. It's mighty still just now; and yet—there, look! Over there to the right—see?"
They all looked, and they all saw. They saw far in the distance the green change to gray, and the gray to faint purple, and back again to green, while curious shifting lights and shadows glancing across the waving blades of grass, made them ripple like water in the sunlight. At the same time, from somewhere, came a soft, cool wind.
"Why, it is—it is just like the ocean," exulted Cordelia. "I've seen it look like that down to Nantasket, 'way, 'way off at sea."
"I told you 'twas," triumphed Bertha.
"Well, anyway," observed Tilly, demurely, "they must be awfully dry waves—not much fun to jump!"
"Tilly, how can you?" protested Cordelia. "How you do take the poetry out of anything! I believe you'd take the poetry out of—of Shakespeare himself!"
"Pooh! Never saw much in him to take out," shrugged Tilly.
"Tilly!" gasped Cordelia.