ve had a
glimpse of the beach before. I vacationed here for one week. Then I have
been to Atlantic City in winter. That's simply wonderful. But you little
Westerners, all the way from Pennsylvania," and she laughed at the
idea, "you, of course, have only seen good old Lake Erie. Yes, girls,
this is the ocean. Meet Madame Atlantic," with a sweeping gesture toward
the ocean. "But look out! That's how Madame Atlantic meets us! Just look
at my pumps!"

A vengeful wave had crept in and deliberately splashed the three pairs
of new summer pumps, before the girls realized they were being
surrounded.

"Well, of all things!" exclaimed Grace. "How did that wave get in
without us seeing it? And we standing right there watching it! My shoes
are simply done for," and she looked about for a place to sit down and
dump out some of the damage.

"That's the way with waves," explained Louise, who now stood sponsor for
the ocean and its habits. "You never can tell just what a wave will do."

"I see," said Cleo, trying to plough through the heavy sand without
burying the soaking wet slippers. "I suppose we may call this our
initiation. Changing time at Pittsburg is nothing to changing pumps at
Sea Crest. Let's to it."

"And salt water is ruinous to leather. I know that much," declared
Grace. "Weasie, you should have told us to leave our shoes on land and
come into the sands barefoot. I suppose that's why all the picture
dancers are barefoot on the sands; it's so hard on slippers. There's a
barrel. Let's anchor that and divest ourselves. Did you ever see dry
land so far away? This sand is as bad as water to plough through."

"Knocks the poetry out of it, doesn't it?" teased Louise. "But don't
let's mind. What are mere pumps to all this?"

They reached the barrel which had been washed up on the beach and was
quite securely embedded in the sand. On this the three chums took refuge
from the ocean water and sea of sand, while they attempted to wring out
their soaking socks and hang them on some brush to dry.

"This is such a lovely big barrel," commented Cleo. "Let's sit here, and
while our wash dries we can tell marine stories. Grace, you had better
put your pumps up farther. That island may be washed away with the next
wave."

"I guess I will," agreed Grace. "It seems to me this old ocean knows we
are greenies the way it tantalizes us. Now there!" and she placed the
two black slippers much farther up from the line marked by the incom