As they pulled up before the inn, Mollie Andrews came running out on to the porch, with a package of letters in her hand.
"Don't get out, Jean; I have your mail. Have you got room enough for me?"
"Certainly. Jump right in," cried Nathalie. "The tide is just right now, so we must hurry. Oh! isn't this jolly? I love the delicious sense of excitement one always feels at the first swim of the season. Say, Moll, will you go in?"
"I don't know. Yes, I think I will."
It was quite a pretty scene, this bright June morning, down on the little stretch of sands which Hetherford dignified by the name of "The Beach."
Little children were digging in the sand and filling their pails, and some of the small boys were running up and down, now in the water, and now out. The girls were in a group in front of the bathing houses, all chattering at once, and discussing the momentous question as to whether to make the plunge or not.
In a brief time Jean and Nathalie were swimming far out, and Mollie came creeping timidly to the water's edge.
"Oh! how I dread it," she laughed.
"Nonsense, Moll; go ahead. It will do you good."
Mollie walked off, and Helen and Eleanor, who had found a sheltered nook, watched the bathers for a while in silence. By and by Helen's gaze strayed from the bathers to the stretch of blue water beyond, and a slightly troubled look crept into her eyes. A sudden, deep sigh recalled Eleanor's thoughts to her companion.