"It's very calm to-day, but sometimes it wears a very different aspect,
Bertie."

"I don't believe it ever could be really rough, just like Turner's
pictures," Eddie grumbled. "It's not a bit like what I thought it would
be."

"It's ten times prettier than anything I ever saw," Bertie cried
enthusiastically. "Just look at all the boats, and such pretty houses,
and the donkeys, Eddie. Oh, Uncle Harry! may we have a donkey-ride? and
such lots of boys!"

"What a pity poor Eddie did not leave his enemy at home, and he would be
as happy as Bertie," Mr. Clair said in a very low voice to Aunt Amy; and
she only shook her head and smiled sorrowfully; but the words, though
spoken in a very low tone, reached Bertie's quick young ears, and he
glanced at his brother in sore perplexity. But at that moment the
carriage stopped at the house where Mr. Clair had secured apartments,
and in the bustle of getting in the packets, exploring the rooms,
exclaiming at the beautiful view from the balcony, and Bertie's sudden
discovery that it was a glorious place to test the powers of a
pea-shooter or catapult, he forgot all about Uncle Clair's words and
Aunt Amy's sorrowful smile; and even Eddie thawed a little, and agreed
that a beautiful full-rigged ship, with the bright sun shining on her
snow-white sails, was a pretty-enough picture to please even an artist.

But that night, when Bertie laid his tired head on the pillow--he had
been running and dancing along the beach for hours--his last waking
thought was, "I must find out who's Eddie's enemy; and if he's not a lot
a bigger fellow than I am, I'll thrash him!"

CHAPTER IX.--A HAPPY ENCOUNTER.

Brighton in the first days of August is hot and dusty, noisy, and
crowded with people; excursionists pour in by thousands, German bands
and organs seem to spring up under one's feet at every step. The sun
blazes in the windows of the houses on the Marine Parade all day, and
the fine, dry, chalky dust from the Downs is apt to be irritating to
delicate throats; but for all that, Brighton in August is delightful, at
least to children. Then they may pass an almost amphibious existence
without danger of catching cold. Foremost in every mischief, bravest in
every danger, most fortunate in every escapade, was Bertie. No one could
look at his sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, hear his merry laughter,
watch him skip, jump, and dance along the beach, without saying, "There,
at least, is one happy boy," an