easiest way, though the longest, was by the path to the breakwater, along
its broad back and down from the end of it upon the sands. Before we
reached the breakwater, I found that Wynnie was following behind us. We
stopped in the middle of it, and set Connie down, as if I wanted to take
breath. But I had thought of something to say to her, which I wanted Wynnie
to hear without its being addressed to her.

"Do you see, Connie," I said, "how far off the water is?"

"Yes, papa; it is a long way off. I wish I could get up and run down to
it."

"You can hardly believe that all between, all those rocks, and all that
sand, will be covered before sunset."

"I know it will be. But it doesn't _look_ likely, does it, papa!"

"Not the least likely, my dear. Do you remember that stormy night when I
came through your room to go out for a walk in the dark?"

"Remember it, papa? I cannot forget it. Every time I hear the wind blowing
when I wake in the night I fancy you are out in it, and have to wake myself
up' quite to get rid of the thought."

"Well, Connie, look down into the great hollow there, with rocks and sand
at the bottom of it, stretching far away."

"Yes, papa."

"Now look over the side of your litter. You see those holes all about