“And I’m coming, too,” called Ann. “Bring three shovels, Ben.”
“Haven’t but two,” Jo called back, laughing. “You can drive.”
So down to the beach they went, joggling over the ruts and rocks in the two-wheeled cart as sensible Jerry plodded steadily along regardless of the bumping cart behind his heels.
A great change had come over Ben during these weeks at Pine Ledge. Instead of the boy who had hardly known whether or not to help carry the bags at the station that first day, he now took his place beside Jo and shoveled with him, tossing the shovelfuls of beach sand into the high cart and keeping pace with Jo. This pleased Ben very much, for though he could not lift as heavy a load it was only because he was younger and shorter than Jo; proportionally he was doing exactly the same amount of work. He did not say anything about it, but Ann noticed, and so did Jo,
“Pretty good work,” he said approvingly. “You’re getting up a fine muscle.”
In the afternoon great thunderheads of clouds began to climb up toward the sun and blacken the sky. The Seymours were up in a field watching Mr. Bailey and Jo as they laid a platform of cement in the milk house for which the beach gravel had been carried that morning. Already squalls were sweeping in from the sea in dark and menacing blots, and to the Baileys this did not promise to be merely a passing thundershower but an all-night deluge.
“See the gulls coming in,” said Jo. “They are beginning to notice the storm, just like I said they would, even before the blow begins.”
Ben and Ann looked to where Jo was pointing, and sure enough, a scattering of gulls showed white as they clustered about the mouth of the river, rising up on spread wings and crying spasmodically with a plaintive note that sounded almost human.
“They will ride with the wind that way until they get fed up,” Jo explained, “and then shift back to the shelter of the swamp pond.” He looked at the clouds with a speculative eye. “Along about sunset they should be taking to the pond. We’ll watch carefully and see how they act, for that will show us, very likely, how heavy the wind will blow before morning.”
To Ann and Ben the sky looked as though the storm would break in a few minutes, for the clouds were black and massed, with a white misty foam along their edges. But Jo’s prophecy was right. The clouds hung steadfastly just over the top of the pine forest, as though fixed in that one spot, moiling and running in layers over themselves but not advancing. The Seymours kept glancing at the sky, for it made the afternoon seem very strange and threatening.