“There’s good water at the top of that path,” said Eleanor, pointing to a path that led up a bluff that backed against the tents. “I think maybe we’ll build a wooden pipe-line to bring the water right down here, but for to-day we’ll have to carry it from the spring there.”
“Is there driftwood here for a camp fire, do you suppose, the way there was last year, Miss Eleanor?” asked one of the other girls. “I’ll never forget the lovely fires we had then!”
“There’s lots of it, I’m afraid,” said Eleanor, gravely.
“Why are you ‘afraid’?” asked Bessie, wonderingly.
“Because all the driftwood, or most of it, comes from wrecked ships, Bessie. This beach looks calm and peaceful now, but in the winter, when the great northeast storms blow, this is a terrible coast, and lots and lots of ships are wrecked. Men are drowned very often, too.”
“Oh, I never thought of that!”
“Still, some of the wood is just lost from lumber schooners that are loaded too heavily,” said Eleanor. “And it certainly does make a beautiful fire, all red and green and blue, and oh, all sorts of colors and shades you never even dreamed of! We’ll have a ceremonial camp fire while we’re here, and it is certainly true that there is no fire half so beautiful as that we get when we use the wood that the sea casts up.”
“Don’t they often find lots of other things beside wood along the coast after a great storm, Miss Eleanor?”
“Yes, indeed! There are people who make their living that way. Wreckers, they call them, you know. Of course, it isn’t as common to find really valuable things now as it was in the old days.”
“Why not? I thought more things were carried at sea than ever,” said Dolly.