“Not always, miss. If you could see it–as I often do–all blue under the sun, and shimmering like–like your hair, miss, if I may be so bold, and with the gulls wheeling about, and dipping down into it–why, miss, you’d say the sea was beautiful–that’s it–just beautiful.”
“Oh, but it’s so often the other way–terrible–hideous!” murmured Belle, who seemed strangely affected.
“No, miss, begging your pardon. Even in a storm I love the sea. It it’s just grand, miss!”
“Well, I’m glad you can think so. I can’t. It makes me–shiver!” and a fit of trembling seized her.
The girls walked on. Some refuse–bits of wood and part of the cargo from the wreck–was coming ashore. The girls continued on down the strand, now and then venturing too close to the water, and being compelled to run back when a higher wave than usual rushed up the shingle.
“I wonder if we couldn’t go out in the boat?” spoke Cora at length.
“Don’t you dare suggest such a thing–to me!” cried Belle. “I’ll never go out again–after that terrible wreck!”
“But I don’t mean out on the ocean,” said Cora. “I mean just around the cove. It isn’t at all rough there, and you won’t mind it a bit.”
“Do come!” begged Eline.
“There isn’t a bit of danger,” urged Bess. “Why, you’ve often been out when there was more sea than this.”