Presently the delirium passed away, and on the following morning the light of intelligence returned to her eyes.
“They are still there,” she said eagerly, raising her head and listening.
“What are still there?” asked her aunt.
“The gulls.”
In fact, these animated foam-flakes of the ocean were about in vast numbers, uttering their peculiar cries as they hovered over the mud.
“Of course they are there--why not?”
“Father said he was going to make ladies’ waistcoats of them, and I’ve been fretting and crying--and then, the daffodils”--
“Oh, bother the daffodils and the gulls! They may wait a long while before waistcoats are made of them.”
“It is not of daffodils father was going to make waistcoats. He said he would have all the gulls shot.”
“Never worrit your head about that. The birds can take care of themselves and fly away to sea.”