“I’m not on the beach,” replied Bumble-bee. “I’m in the air. Who are you, anyway?”
“Who am I! Well, I like that—who am I? Why, I’m ME!”
The big brown hill lifted itself up a bit, and they saw that it was the back of a Horse-Shoe Crab.
“Get off the beach, you civilians, this is a parade-ground! I’m drilling the new regiment from the Deep Sea.”
Then they noticed a long line of little pink Crabs emerging from the foamy water and slowly ascending the sands.
“Backward—march!” shouted the Horse-Shoe Crab.
There was nothing for Birdling to do but sit down on an empty oyster shell and wait until the parade was over. They marched backward, and marked time with two feet, three feet, four feet, till they had learned to keep all six of them going, and they did squads right and left and exercised their jaws and joints and pincers. There was nothing they did not do.
At last the Horse-Shoe Crab shouted: “Dismiss!” and all the little Crabs tumbled back into the sea, pinching each other and betting who would be first down the beach. Then the old commander turned his attention to Birdling and Bumble.
