THE MYSTERY OF THE CRAB
At the base of that Cliff where the wild flowers grew, the golden sands were still bathed in hot sunshine, and roughly caressed by the incoming waves. Upon the crest of one of these a Periwinkle was borne, and tossed, and flung, until it was landed high and wet on a soft bed of seaweed. But not for long—for very soon a little girl arose from that bed of seaweed, smoothed back her clinging hair, and cried out with joy as she recognised her surroundings. It was Dulcie, glad to be herself once more, and on the same beautiful sands again; and her first thought was of course for Cyril.
She was dripping wet. To wipe her face she took out her handkerchief, which of course was wet also. In order to dry it she tied it to a piece of stick; thus it could serve as a flag, too, which she could wave to attract Cyril if he were about that coast, and show him where she was.
Remembering that, according to some wise-heads, sea water kindly gives no chills, she had no