"Tom is calling you, Susie," she said.
"Oh, bother!" said Susie. "You can go and see what he wants."
Amy obediently struggled over the heavy sand to the fine strip of pebbles on which the boys were disporting themselves. Their boots were wet through; their shrill voices pierced Susie's poor defences.
"Susie—Susie—Susie!"
But Susie did not move.
All the same, she knew perfectly well that Amy was struggling back over the shingle and the sand, and had dropped panting at her feet, quite unable to speak for want of breath. Her little delicate face was pink with heat and excitement, and her thin legs trembled.
"They want to get a box and send Dickie out in it, like a boat," she explained.
"They haven't got a box," said Susie.
"But they say they can get one easily. It's father's; and they can tie a string on to it and drag it."
"They can ask mother," said Susie impatiently.