The dog lay and panted, her red tongue hanging out, too warm and uncomfortable to do more than feebly wag her tail when one of the children patted her.
The ocean was crowded with bathers, trying to get cool, and Aunt Bessie, Miss Martinson, and Sunny’s mother came up to them presently, their bathing suits dripping.
“It feels so much like a thunderstorm, that we’re going up to the house and dress,” said Mrs. Horton. “No one but a Hottentot or a youngster could stand the sun to-day. The clouds look threatening off there. Does Nestle Cove have very severe storms?”
“Pretty heavy sometimes,” admitted Mrs. Gray, knitting steadily. “I remember last year we had one that crippled the electric light service. I’ll send Sunny Boy up in an hour or so, shall I? Or may we keep him to lunch? The children would love to have him.”
“I’m nervous in a storm,” confessed Mrs. Horton. “I think I’d feel better if he were with me. Don’t let him stay out much past noon.”
So when the town whistle blew the long shrill blast that meant twelve o’clock, Mrs. Gray gathered up her knitting and signaled to the four children down at the water’s edge.
“You’re just as tanned!” said Stephen to Sunny Boy, as they began to put on their shoes and stockings.
Indeed, Sunny Boy’s face and hands and legs were a soft, even brown now, and his nose was brown with little gold freckles powdered generously over it.
“Whee! see the clouds,” shouted Ralph, pointing inland. “Don’t they look like castles and mountains, Mother?”
“Or snow pudding,” said Ellen.