“It is, my dear,” replied the Captain; “although it’s one of the commonest forms of the actinea family. As Bob said just now, it is very like a chrysanthemum; and, if anything, more beautiful, which you can see for yourself before we try to shift its lodging. It is called by a fearfully long scientific name, which to my mind does a positive injury to the poor beast. What do you think of such a jaw-breaker as ‘mesembryanthemum,’ eh?”
“Oh!” ejaculated Nell, “what an awful word! I’m sure I shall never be able to remember it.”
“You must, missy, if you want to describe properly the inmates of your aquarium, where this gentleman is now going to make a move for. Now, Bob,” went on the Captain, turning round to the boys, who were anxiously waiting, all eagerness to commence proceedings, “put that knife of yours, that you have been brandishing all this time, carefully under the base of the poor beggar, and try to peel him off, as I see the rock is too smooth for us to break away. Mind you don’t touch the animal with the sharp point, though; for the slightest scratch will kill him.”
Nellie watched Bob with eager attention from the top of the boulder; while Dick held the little tin bucket below the sea-anemone, so as to catch it as soon as it had been separated from the rock. At the first touch of Bob’s knife, the anemone shrunk in, showing nothing but a row of blue turquoise-like beads around its top or mouth; the rest of the animal appearing to be but a dull lump of jelly, all its vivid colours and iridescent hues having vanished on the instant of its being assailed by Bob with that formidable weapon of his.
“It’s wounded!” cried Nellie impulsively. “Don’t hurt it, Bob, poor thing!”
“It’s all right, missy,” said the Captain, consolingly. “It always shrinks like that when any one interferes with it. But, look sharp, Bob, there’s your aunt waving her handkerchief like mad from the pier-head to say that the steamer’s coming in; and, by Jove, there she is, rounding the point!”
They did look sharp; the boys, after the anemone was secured, scampering ashore in extra high spirits on account of the old sailor telling them that they had no time to put their shoes and stockings on, and would have to go on board the Bembridge Belle without them, like a pair of mudlarks.
The Captain hurried, too, jumping from rock to rock and boulder to boulder, a precaution now even more necessary than before, from the tide having risen considerably even during their short delay and being now nearly at the flood.
Sure-footed himself as an old sailor, though holding Nellie’s hand to prevent her slipping, he found time, in spite of his hurry, to point out to her, growing on the beach under the low cliff, beyond where the keeper’s lodge stood, a solitary specimen of the “sea cabbage,” whose bright yellow flowers and fleshy green leaves, he suggested, would be an addition to the general effect of her bouquet, which, by the way, Mrs Gilmour had taken charge of while she went anemone-gathering, after this had been discarded from the bucket.
“It isn’t bad eating, either, when on a pinch for green stuff,” added the old sailor; “and I’ve seen boys hawking the plant about for sale at Dover. But, let us push ahead, missy—run, boys, run, the steamer’s alongside!”