I will come back in a minute
With some seed for thee."
[DAB KINZER: A STORY OF A GROWING BOY.]
By William O. Stoddard.
CHAPTER XX.
Dismally barren and lonesome was that desolate bar between the "bay" and the ocean. Here and there it swelled up into great drifts and mounds of sand, which were almost large enough to be called hills; but nowhere did it show a tree or a bush, or even a patch of grass. Annie Foster found herself getting melancholy as she gazed upon it and thought of how the winds must sometimes sweep across it, laden with sea-spray and rain and hail, or the bitter sleet and blinding snow of winter.
"Dabney," she said, "was the storm very severe here last night and yesterday?"