with
delight at the gleaming sea, the red sails of the herring-fleet, and the
little white yacht which came slowly round the point of the cliff,
waiting for a puff of wind to take her to the harbour. The tide was
coming in fast, and the churning of the waves, as they ground the small
pebbles along the beach, had the most inspiriting and refreshing sound.
She stooped every now and then to pick up a shell, or to clutch at a
great piece of ribbon sea-weed which was dashed to her feet by an
advancing wave; she had an exciting chase after a scuttling crab, and
missed him in the end, and nearly got drenched with spray trying to
rescue a walking-stick which she could see floating at the edge of the
water. She had filled her pockets with a moist collection of specimens,
and was half thinking of turning back to retrace her footsteps to Marine
Terrace, when from behind a crag of rock which jutted out sharply on to
the sands she heard a sound of children's voices and laughter. Moved
with curiosity she peeped round the corner, and found herself at the
edge of a small patch of green common that ran along the shore between
the cliffs and the sea. It was covered with soft fine grass and little
low-growing flowers; the broken masts washed up from a wreck made
capital seats; and, altogether, it appeared as pleasant a playground as
could well be imagined.

So, at any rate, seemed to think the group of boys and girls who were
assembled there, since they had set up some wickets, and were
enthusiastically engaged in a game of cricket, for which the short fine
grass made an excellent pitch. It looked so interesting that Isobel
strolled rather nearer to the players, and finding an upturned boat upon
the beach, she curled herself under its shadow, and settled down,
apparently unnoticed, to watch the progress of the game. She could hear
as well as see, and her ears were keenly alert to the scraps of lively
conversation which floated towards her.

"Have you found the ball?"

"Yes; under a heap of nettles, and stung my fingers horribly. Just look
at the blisters."

"Don't be a baby. Go on; it's your play."

"I can't hold the bat while my hands hurt so."

"Then miss your turn.--Come along, Bertie, and have your innings; Ruth
doesn't want hers."

"Yes, I do! I'm older than Bertie, so I must go in first. If you'd only
wait a minute, till I can find a dock leaf."

"We can't wait. How tiresome you are! Here, Bertie, take the bat."

"It's