CHAPTER VIII.
The next morning was bright and clear, the air so much warmer than that which had been left behind on their own shores, that one and all repaired to the deck after breakfast, and preferred to remain there during the greater part of the day. Mr. Horace Dinsmore, his wife and daughter were sitting near together, the ladies occupied with some crocheting, and Mr. Dinsmore with a book in hand, which he did not seem to be reading, when Elsie and Ned Raymond, who had been gamboling about the deck, came dancing up to them with a request for "more about Bermuda."
"You don't want to be surprised by the pretty things you will see there, eh?" queried their grandpa.
"No, sir; we want to hear about them first and see them afterward; if it isn't troubling you too much," said Elsie, with a coaxing look up into his face.
"Well, considering that you are my great-grandchildren, I think I must search my memory for something interesting on the subject. There are many picturesque creeks and bays. There are four pretty large islands—Bermuda, the largest, being fifteen miles long. The strange shapes of the islands and the number of spacious lagoons make it necessary to travel about them almost entirely in boats; which is very pleasant, as you glide along under a beautiful blue sky and through waters so clear that you can see even to their lowest depths, where the fish sport among the coral rocks, and exquisitely variegated shells abound."
"Oh, I shall like that!" exclaimed Elsie. "Are the fish handsome, too, grandpa?"
"Some of them are strikingly so," he replied. "One called the parrot-fish is of a green color as brilliant as that of his bird namesake. His scales are as green as the fresh grass of spring-time, and each one is bordered by a pale brown line. His tail is banded with nearly every color of the rainbow, and his fins are pink."
"Is he good to eat, grandpa?" asked Ned.
"No, his flesh is bitter and poisonous to man and probably to other fishes. So they let him well alone."