Here, stretched on the hearthrug before the grate, in which a bright cosy little fire was blazing and looking uncommonly cheery, although it was now summer, lay Rover.
Without rising, he lazily greeted them by flopping his heavy tail, albeit he lifted his nose in the air and sniffed, as if in anticipation of sharing the coming meal with the welcome guests who so opportunely appeared.
“Well, I declare!” cried Mrs Gilmour, “I hope you make yourself at home, sir?”
Rover only flopped his tail the more furiously at this, his appealing brown eyes saying, as plainly as dog could speak, that he was hungry, and that if she meant to be kind he would prefer actions to words.
After breakfast, as the rain still continued, Bob got grumpy again and Nellie mopey from not being able to go out on the beach as both longed to do.
In this emergency, their aunt suggested that the unhappy children should occupy themselves in sorting and arranging in an old album, which she gave them, some of the best bits of seaweed they had collected the previous afternoon, the good lady advising them first to soak the specimens in a bowl of fresh-water, so as to get rid of the salt and sand and other impurities, besides enabling the specimens to be laid flatter in the book for subsequent pressing.
By this means, the time passed so pleasantly that Master Bob and Miss Nell were much surprised when Mrs Gilmour, who had meanwhile been busying herself about household matters, came to tell them, anon, that they must clear their things off the parlour-table on account of Sarah wanting to lay luncheon.
“Why, auntie,” cried Bob, looking up from the basin in which he was busy washing the last lot of seaweed, “we’ve hardly begun yet!”
“You’ve been a long time beginning then, sir,” replied Mrs Gilmour. “Do you know that it is past one o’clock; so that you’ve been more than three hours at your task? See, too, my dears, the rain has cleared off, and it looks as if it were going to be fine for a bit.”
“How nice, aunt Polly!” said Nellie, the neat-handed, carefully lifting up the album out of Sarah’s way so that she might spread the cloth. “I declare I never thought once of looking out of the window to see if it were still wet. Did you, Bob?”