d her taking a walk with me.

"Do you really think," I asked as we sat down on the sands, "that he
will never go back to Puddleby again?"

"I don't know," said she. "At one time I felt sure that the thought of
the pets he had left behind at the house would take him home soon. But
since Miranda brought him word last August that everything was all right
there, that hope's gone. For months and months I've been racking my
brains to think up a plan. If we could only hit upon something that
would turn his thoughts back to natural history again--I mean something
big enough to get him really excited--we might manage it. But how?"--she
shrugged her shoulders in disgust--"How?--when all he thinks of now is
paving streets and teaching papooses that twice one are two!"

It was a perfect Popsipetel day, bright and hot, blue and yellow.
Drowsily I looked out to sea thinking of my mother and father. I
wondered if they were getting anxious over my long absence. Beside me
old Polynesia went on grumbling away in low steady tones; and her words
began to mingle and mix with the gentle lapping of the waves upon the
shore. It may have been the even murmur of her voice, helped by the soft
and balmy air, that lulled me to sleep. I don't know. Anyhow I presently
dreamed that the island had moved again--not floatingly as before, but
suddenly, jerkily, as though something enormously powerful had heaved it
up from its bed just once and let it down.

How long I slept after that I have no idea. I was awakened by a gentle
pecking on the nose.

"Tommy!--Tommy!" (it was Polynesia's voice) "Wake up!--Gosh, what a
boy, to sleep through an earthquake and never notice it!--Tommy, listen:
here's our chance now. Wake up, for goodness' sake!"

"What's the matter?" I asked sitting up with a yawn.

"Sh!--Look!" whispered Polynesia pointing out to sea.

Still only half awake, I stared before me with bleary, sleep-laden eyes.
And in the shallow water, not more than thirty yards from shore I saw
an enormous pale pink shell. Dome-shaped, it towered up in a graceful
rainbow curve to a tremendous height; and round its base the surf broke
gently in little waves of white. It could have belonged to the wildest
dream.

"What in the world is it?" I asked.

"That," whispered Polynesia, "is what sailors for hundreds of years
have called the Sea-serpent. I've seen it myself more than once from the
decks of ships, at long range, curving in and out of the water. But