"All right," answered the little boy. He had stopped jumping about now.
"Where are your shovels, Russ?" asked his mother, looking about for something with which to dig.
"We didn't have any. We used big clam shells," he answered. "Here's one, and I'll get another."
The large clam shells were pretty good to use as shovels, though Mrs. Bunker felt that she could have worked faster with a regular one. However, she had to do the best she could, and really the shell scooped the sand out very well. Russ helped, and they both set to work to dig Rose out of the hole in which she was partly buried.
"It's a good thing the sand didn't slide in on you and cover your head," said Mrs. Bunker. "How did it happen, Russ?"
"Well, we were digging a sand house—it was just a hole in the sand, you know," the little boy explained. "We were going to put some sticks across the top, when we got it deep enough to stand up in, and put some seaweed over the sticks for a roof. I saw some boys on the beach make a sand house like that yesterday.
"But after we dug down a way," he went on, "Rose got down in the hole so she could dig better. She scooped the sand up to me and I put it in a heap on the beach. And then, all of a sudden, a lot of the sand slid in on Rose and she was held fast and—and——"
"And I couldn't get out, but I tried like anything!" added Rose, as her brother stopped for breath. "And then Russ screamed for you and—and—Oh, I'm so glad you came!" and Rose leaned her head against her mother, who was busy digging out the sand with the clam shell.
"I'm glad I came, too, my dear," said Mrs. Bunker. "After this don't dig such deep sand holes, or, if you do, don't get into them. Sand, you know, is not like other dirt. It doesn't stay in one place, but slips and slides about."
"But we want to have something to play in!" exclaimed Russ.