Alas! as soon as Bill and Humphrey appeared, even in the distance, all hopes were gone. Both boys shook their heads sadly.
"You saw nothing of it?" asked their Mother eagerly. Poor Lilly was past speaking.
"Nothing—as well as we could make out, the tide must have covered the stones where the girls dressed, some time ago," they replied.
"Then I fear there is nothing to be done," said Mamma. "Poor Lilly, I am so sorry for you."
"And to think it was all my own carelessness," sobbed Lilly. "My dear watch and chain—there was the chain too, Mamma."
But Lilly was so seldom careless, and even if she had been so for once, it was in the service of others, that no one would let her blame herself, and all the family joined to try to console her.
"There is one chance," said Bill to Humphrey, when they were alone,—their Mother and elder sisters having gone out for the afternoon,—"the watch is heavy, and the sea is calm. It may be left there when the tide goes back. Let's see—it will be high tide by about five, and low again by eleven. Those stones should be uncovered by ten o'clock, and it is bright moonlight just now. I tell you what, Humphrey, we'll get Mamma's leave to sit up later to-night, and we'll go off to the shore and have another try for the watch and chain."
Humphrey's eyes sparkled with sympathy.
"We'll say nothing to Lilly—it would be cruel to raise her hopes again on such a chance," he said. "We'll only tell Mamma."
The plan was carried out. At ten o'clock that evening, just as poor Lilly was going to bed, and thinking sadly how strange it seemed to have no watch to wind up, two small figures might have been seen in the moonlight, carefully picking their way among the stones over which the little waves were still softly lapping, for the special group of small rocks they were in search of was not yet uncovered.