“Do stop a moment,” answered Bob, just then busy at the base of a rock close by the pier, which was nearly awash with the incoming tide, “I’ve found such a jolly sea-anemone here. Come and see it, please, Captain.”
“Are you sure it’s not a weed?” called back the old sailor a trifle impatiently. “We can’t waste any time on rubbish!”
“Of course not; I should think I ought to know an anemone by now, sir!” cried Bob, rather indignant at being supposed capable of making such a mistake, albeit his knowledge on the subject, it must be confessed, was but slight and only lately acquired. “It is coloured beautifully, and looks like a purple chrysanthemum.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed the Captain, forgetting the steamer and his fatigue alike as he hurried towards the spot where Bob was paddling in the water and Dick standing close by, bucket in hand. “Why, it’s the very thing I’ve been hunting for, missy, to set off your aquarium.”
“Mind you don’t get your feet wet!” called out Mrs Gilmour, in great solicitude, as he went off in keen ardour to assist the boys in securing the prize, the good lady adding, as Nellie scampered after him, she contenting herself with remaining higher up on the shore: “Take care, my dearie! I don’t want to have you laid up, with your father and mother coming down in a few days, when I want you to look your best.”
“Never fear, I’ll take care of her and myself too!” sang out the Captain, who by this time, hopping from rock to rock, in which operation he was closely followed and imitated by the giggling Nellie behind him, had reached the boulder where Bob was. “Keep close to me, missy.”
“Don’t touch it for a little while, my boy, I want your sister to see it expanded, and it will close up if you go poking it about. Look, Miss Nell!” he continued, pointing it out to her with the end of his malacca cane, “The sun is just shining on it through the water, and you can sea its colours of pink, purple, and orange. This is one of the actinea, or ‘anthozoa,’ so-called from two Greek words meaning ‘living flowers.’ A pretty name, missy, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Nellie. “It reminds me of a fairy tale aunt Polly told me of the different flowers in the garden having a party and talking together.”
“Precisely, my dear; only the anthozoa can’t talk!”
“But, oh, how pretty this sea-anemone is!” cried she in ecstasies, not noticing his little bit of satire. “It is wonderful!”