"I never saw them before!" she cried. "How wonderful they are! Oh!" she
shouted; as one of them glanced sadly at her over its shoulder, and then
vanished with a whirl of the head. "The Beatrice Cenci attitude!"

"They 're always trying that," said Libby. "Look yonder." He pointed to a
bank of mud which the tide had not yet covered, and where a herd of seals
lay basking in the sun. They started at his voice, and wriggling and
twisting and bumping themselves over the earth to the water's edge, they
plunged in. "Their walk isn't so graceful as their swim. Would you like
one for a pet, Miss Breen? That's all they 're good for since kerosene
came in. They can't compete with that, and they're not the kind that wear
the cloaks."

She was standing with her hand pressed hard upon his shoulder.

"Did they ever kill them?"

"They used to take that precaution."

"With those eyes? It was murder!" She withdrew her hand and sat down.

"Well, they only catch them, now. I tried it myself once. I set out at
low tide, about ten o'clock, one night, and got between the water and the
biggest seal on the bank. We fought it out on that line till daylight."

"And did you get it?" she demanded, absurdly interested.

"No, it got me. The tide came in, and the seal beat."

"I am glad of that."