“No, only the little spring down there,” answered Thekla. “Oh, I know! (joyfully). I can guess! It’s a great, great deal of water, thousands and thousands of times more than there is in our rain-water tub!”
“Bless me!” cried September, almost in a pet. “Rain-water tub, indeed! Why, child, if all the tubs in creation were put side by side, they wouldn’t make a quarter of a sea! Quarter! they wouldn’t make a millionth part! Now listen, while I tell you about it.
“It stretches miles and miles and miles. Get into a boat, and sail for weeks and months, still the shore lies beyond, and still you are at sea!
“It is blue as the sky, and beautiful silver dimples come and go over its face. Or at other times it is green, with waves fifty times the height of your hut, and they rise and fall, and break in foam white as milk. And, when the storms blow, it is black,—black as night,—and the sound of its roaring is like wild beasts over their prey.
“I love the ocean. He and I are friends, though almost every year we have a mighty quarrel, and the world rings with the noise. But afterwards we kiss and make up, and part affectionately.
“And the little ones who live by the sea are my special pets. There are ever so many of them, of all sizes and ages; and our frolics go on from sunrise to sleepy-time.”
“What do you play at?” asked Thekla, getting interested.
“All sorts of games. The game of ‘Drown’ for one,—that is played in the shallows,—and ‘Wet my neighbor,’ and ‘Polliwog.’ We build sand-forts; go fishing with crooked pins; rock-by-baby in boats; paddle about with no shoes on. I collect all sorts of pretty shells and weeds for them; and drive schools of bright fish, to plunge and jump where they can be seen. On Sunday there are Sunday schools, and they jump to a tune in short metre. Oh, there is no end to the amusing things we do, when we get together! They think there is nobody like me, especially the Brown children.”
“The Brown children?” said Max, inquiringly.
“Yes: the ones who were carried off in the boat, you know.”