"I wouldn't have, had I known you were such a—er—what animal is it that has such a sensitive nose, Mollie?"
"Bear, I guess you mean," Mollie admitted.
"Yes, that's it. Oh, but I did have a nice sleep!" and Grace lazily stretched first one arm and then the other. "But where are Betty and Amy keeping themselves?" she asked.
"That's just what I've been trying to get you to realize," said Mollie. "It's rather strange of them to go so far away."
"Oh, probably Betty wants to get some more shells for those string portiers she is making," Grace said. "Come on, we'll walk down the beach a little way ourselves."
Mollie assented and the two were soon strolling down the strand, looking in advance for a sight of their chums.
But the seashore was deserted, save for the presence of some birds that swooped down now and then to snap up the hopping white insects which made such queer little burrows down in the sand.
A few hundred feet beyond the little grove where the picnic had been held, Mollie and Grace came to a pause.
"I don't see them," Mollie said, and her voice was troubled.
"Nor I," conceded Grace. "Do you suppose they can be hiding to play a joke on us?"