"Oh, perhaps I can fix it," speculated Grace. "It's a very nice round hole, and I may cover it with a patch pocket, though it would be rather low down to trust my wealth to it. However, it is all right. And the fire will finish drying our socks and pumps. And also, we have something to remember in our first beach fire. I have often read of them. They usually toast potatoes and things in the fires, don't they?"
"Marshmallows," corrected Louise, quite well informed on beach lore. "We'll have a marshmallow roast when enough of the girls come down. But it is nice to get here first and find everything out. When the other schools close next week I suppose we won't be able to find one another, with the crowds that will flock to this beach. And just now we have it all to ourselves," she finished, looking up and down the vast expanse of territory known as the ocean front, and therefore quite as extensive as the stretch of the ocean itself.
"All the same," insisted Grace, smoothing again the rolled slip of paper which Cleo had handed over. "I believe this is written by someone——"
"We all do," interrupted Cleo with a smile.
"I mean some one who is a firebug!"
"Oh, come now," teased Louise. "I don't believe you are as sensational as that, Grace. Firebugs don't grow in the ocean, like crabs. Just see that funny crab trying to get in your slipper. You don't suppose he can write notes, and start fires, do you?"
"And here's another sort of monster," called Cleo, who was poking in the sand near the edge. "I believe this fellow could do most anything if he had the tools. Just look! Isn't he horrid looking?"
"Ugh!" exclaimed Grace, "I'm glad I never eat fish!"
"That's a skate," explained Louise. "No one eats that sort of fish. Isn't he ugly?" and a determined thrust with her beach stick (a piece of bamboo salvaged from the drift wood), sent the dead monster out into the deep.
"If I had a pencil, I would put an answer to that letter in the bottle," proposed Cleo. "We might get a lot of fun out of it."