ping their weed-hung sides, but in stormy
weather covering them with foam as it alternately showed their grim and
jagged shapes, or hid them from view. Woe, then, to the unfortunate
vessel that came amongst them, for the pitiless waves would lift it up
bodily, and then dash it down upon the cruel stones, shivering it to
pieces, and sending the splintered fragments to beat against the tall
cliffs or strew the shore! But the sea was now placid and beautiful,
with the sun making his beams glance off the heaving waves in far
spreading rays, while the tiny retiring wavelets left their marks upon
the sand in little ripple-marks, covered all over with the casts
thrown-up by the sea-worms.

Old Tom had no heavy drag over the sands, for the boys were down in an
instant, racing over the flat surface, while Mr Inglis drove gently on
towards the rocks, where he drew up the car, took out Tom, secured him
to the wheel, and left him at last with his nose-bag on, under the
shadow of the rocks, nibbling his corn, and whisking the flies away with
his long tail. His master then took a bottle or two, and a couple of
hand-nets and a hammer, and walked down towards the water's edge. Soon
the boys joined him, loaded already; for there were such heaps of
treasures--long razor shells, whelk and cockle shells, limpets, mussels,
periwinkles, star-fish in the pools, seaweed of all shapes and colours,
shrimps; while all over the sand where they stood, busy sea-lice were
hopping about in myriads.

Mr Inglis sent the boys for another glass jar or two, and an iron bar
that lay at the bottom of the cart; and then down they went towards
low-water mark, and searched amid the rocky pools till the Squire found
one to his satisfaction, when he stopped.

"Now, Fred," he said, "you shall see what wondrous things there are in a
little pool, by the sea-side."

And now, peering down into the clear, still water, they looked into a
little submarine forest of weeds--nay, of beautiful branching miniature
trees; while on the rocks were what seemed to Fred like flowers of the
most beautiful colours.

"Now, Fred," said Mr Inglis, "fill your jar with water, and pick that
fine fellow off the rock."

"It won't bite, will it?" said Fred, nervously, for he felt somehow that
it was not what it seemed.

"Bite? no!" laughed his cousins; "look here," and Harry turned up his
sleeve and touched the beautifully tinted petals.

In a moment they were gone, and in their