"But after we dug down a way," he went on, "Rose got down in the hole so
she could dig better. She scooped the sand up to me and I put it in a
heap on the beach. And then, all of a sudden, a lot of the sand slid in
on Rose and she was held fast and--and----"

"And I couldn't get out, but I tried like anything!" added Rose, as her
brother stopped for breath. "And then Russ screamed for you
and--and--Oh, I'm so glad you came!" and Rose leaned her head against
her mother, who was busy digging out the sand with the clam shell.

"I'm glad I came, too, my dear," said Mrs. Bunker. "After this don't dig
such deep sand holes, or, if you do, don't get into them. Sand, you
know, is not like other dirt. It doesn't stay in one place, but slips
and slides about."

"But we want to have something to play in!" exclaimed Russ.

"Well, we want you to have fun while you are here at Cousin Tom's, but
we don't want you to get hurt," said Mrs. Bunker. "Can't you make a
little playhouse of the driftwood on the beach? That would be nicer to
play in than a damp hole."

"Oh, yes, we could do that!" cried Rose. "Let's make a wooden house on
the beach, Russ! There's lots of wood!"

"And then we can play pirates!" added the little boy.

A little later Rose had been dug out of the sand, and though her dress
was a little damp, for the sand, as one dug down into it, was rather