"Why don't you take him up to the house?" said Perry, looking with some
interest at Mandy's bundle. "'Taint a very good place for him here.
You'll find us at the cove, all right."

"He'll wake up sure, if I try to carry him up the hill. See how nice he
lays; and I'll hang the end of the shawl over this net-pole. I can see
it plain enough from the cove. If he wakes up, he'll be tumblin' round
and pull it off, so I'll know when to come back for him."

"Well, it takes a girl for contrivance," Perry said; and it was
something in his manner rather than the words which made Mandy, as she
followed the two boys, vaguely feel she was disapproved of.

The cove was a half-circle of pebble beach, washed by the ripples of a
slowly rising tide, with a wall of gray slate rock at the back.
Hemlock-trees leaned from the steep wooded cliff above, the shadows of
their boughs moving with the wind across the sunny face of the rock.

It was very warm and still and bright. Mandy climbed to a perch high up
in the twisted roots of an old hemlock, who, having ventured too far
over the edge of the cliff, was clinging there, desperately driving his
tough toes into the crevices of the rock, and wildly waving his boughs
upward and backward as if imploring help from his comrades, safe in the
dark wood above.

The river spread broad and bright below her. Mandy listened, in happy
silence, to all the mysterious rustlings and twitterings and cracklings
in the wood above, and the sounds, far and near, from the river below.
Now and then she looked to see if the shawl still fluttered from the
net-pole. She was glad she came, and it seemed but a very little while