bacco, pared off a few
shavings and stuffed the bowl. He was a grave, fine-looking old man.
As he lit up and the blue smoke wreathed his head, the dog, watching,
looked proud of him.

"Baa! Baaa!" The sheep spread out into a fan. They were just clear of
the summer colony before the first sleeper turned over and lifted a
drowsy head; their cry sounded in the dreams of little children... who
lifted their arms to drag down, to cuddle the darling little woolly
lambs of sleep. Then the first inhabitant appeared; it was the Burnells'
cat Florrie, sitting on the gatepost, far too early as usual, looking
for their milk-girl. When she saw the old sheep-dog she sprang up
quickly, arched her back, drew in her tabby head, and seemed to give a
little fastidious shiver. "Ugh! What a coarse, revolting creature!" said
Florrie. But the old sheep-dog, not looking up, waggled past, flinging
out his legs from side to side. Only one of his ears twitched to prove
that he saw, and thought her a silly young female.

The breeze of morning lifted in the bush and the smell of leaves and wet
black earth mingled with the sharp smell of the sea. Myriads of birds
were singing. A goldfinch flew over the shepherd's head and, perching on
the tiptop of a spray, it turned to the sun, ruffling its small breast
feathers. And now they had passed the fisherman's hut, passed the
charred-looking little whare where Leila the milk-girl lived with her
old Gran. The sheep strayed over a yellow swamp and Wag, the sheep-dog,
padded after, rounded them up and headed them for the steeper, narrower
rocky pass that led out of Crescent Bay and towards Daylight Cove. "Baa!
Baa!" Faint the cry came as they rocked along the fast-drying road. The
shepherd put away his pipe, dropping it into his breast-pocket so that
the little bowl hung over. And straightway the soft airy whistling began
again. Wag ran out along a ledge of rock after something that smelled,
and ran back again disgusted. Then pushing, nudging, hurrying, the sheep
rounded the bend and the shepherd followed after out of sight.

Chapter 1.II.

A few moments later the back door of one of the bungalows opened, and a
figure in a broad-striped bathing suit flung down the paddock, cleared
the stile, rushed through the tussock grass into the hollow, staggered
up the sandy hillock, and raced for dear life over the big porous
stones, over the cold, wet pebbles, on to the hard sand that gleamed
like oil. Splish-Splo