uple of hours' rest," said Mr. Freeman, "so you
girls can go down to the beach or do whatever you like until you are
ready for luncheon."

The girls took off their shoes and stockings and ran down to the water's
edge, and were soon wading about enjoying the cool water. After a
little while they tired of wading and went up on the dry warm sand.
Patches of bayberry bushes grew near the shore, and their fragrant
leaves and small gray berries at once attracted Rose's attention. She
had never before seen this shrub, a species of myrtle, and Anne was
delighted to find something that she could tell the elder girl.

"It's bayberry, Rose. Just rub the leaves between your fingers and see
how sweet it smells," she said. "Aunt Martha makes candles of these
little green berries, and likes them better than tallow candles. When
you snuff them out they make all the room smell just like this," and
Anne held the bruised leaves up for Rose to smell.

"I don't see how candles could be made of these little berries," said
Rose.

"And Aunt Martha makes a fine salve from them, too," continued Anne.
"When she makes the candles I gather the berries, quarts and quarts, and
she boils them in a kettle, and then skims off the top, and boils it
again, and then turns it into the molds."

"Come to luncheon, girls!" called Mr. Freeman, and they ran back to the
grassy field and the shade of the beech tree. On one side Lady was
nibbling her oats happily. The lunch basket stood open; Mr. Freeman
handed Rose a small tin drinking cup, and the girls ran down to the
brook for a drink of the clear water.

"Cape Cod twists about Massachusetts Bay like a long arm, doesn't it,
father?" said Rose, as they all seated themselves around the lunch
basket.

Mr. Freeman laughed at Rose's description of the Cape, but nodded his
head in agreement.

"I believe it does, my dear," he answered. "Province Town is the hand
curved in, and Truro the wrist; Chatham must be the elbow, and now we
are getting pretty well up to the shoulder."

After luncheon they all went back to the shore, and picked up many tiny
shells. Some of these were clear white, and others a delicate pink. Mr.
Freeman told them that the Indian women pricked tiny holes, with a small
sharp-pointed awl, in these shells and strung them like beads, and Rose
and Anne thought it would be a fine plan to carry a quantity of shells
to Boston and string them into necklaces.

The time went swiftly, and when Mr