Sprite Seaford was often called a little "Water Witch," from the fact that she was so much at home on the water.

She could swim wonderfully well for so small a girl, and she managed her boat with skill.

After another approving glance at the rows of softly tinted sh.e.l.ls, she ran out onto the beach, and soon in her boat she was gliding along on the shallow water near the sh.o.r.e, her oars moving with slow precision, keeping time to the song that she was singing, or rather to the songs that she was singing, for she was making a gay little medley of many familiar tunes.

The light breeze lifted her long, waving hair, and let it flutter back from her face, it kissed her cheeks, and made them pink like the sh.e.l.ls that she valued most.

The great gulls hovered overhead, flapping their wings, and circling about as if trying to determine what sort of little being it was that boasted such long tresses.

Skimming over a bit of shallow water, she chanced to look down and there, on the sandy bottom, was a sh.e.l.l, different in shape from any in her collection.

"I must have it," she cried, and in a second she had drawn the oars into the boat, had slipped into the shallow water, and having pushed the light boat toward the sh.o.r.e, swam along under water until she came to the spot where the sh.e.l.l lay.

She came up to the surface to get the air, laughed, and swam downward again, s.n.a.t.c.hed the coveted sh.e.l.l, and then made her way to where the little boat rocked on the waves.

She was in it in a moment, and again plying the oars, her sh.e.l.l on the seat opposite that on which she was sitting.

She had dressed herself in her little bathing suit, and she laughed as she saw that the warm breeze playing with her hair, was drying it, while her blouse and skirt were dripping and would continue to drip until hung up where the wind could blow through them.

Rarely a day pa.s.sed that Sprite did not spend with Polly and Rose, but to-day they were away, and she must amuse herself. They were her two dearest playmates, but the dancing waves were the next best.

"I love to play with Princess Polly, and with Rose Atherton, and when I'm not playing with them, I like my boat," she said softly. "I would have asked Gwen to stay but I didn't want to her to.

"Gwen so often says unpleasant things. Polly and Rose never do, and surely the boat doesn't. It never even answers back," she added with a laugh. Then for a time she plied the oars in silence, rowing always close along the sh.o.r.e, out from one little bay, and into another.

Then someone hailed her.

"Hi! Sprite! Sprite Seaford!"

She turned on her seat, and there, on the beach, close to the water, was Max Deland.

"Say! Have you seen Gwen Harcourt?" he asked, his hands held trumpet-wise, to carry his voice to her.

"I saw her, oh, much as an hour ago, it may be longer," Sprite answered.

"Oh, pshaw! I mean have you seen her within a short time?" cried Max, impatiently.

"I _said_ I saw her an hour ago, and maybe longer," Sprite said.

"I wonder it wasn't a week!" cried Max. "I want her now."

With that he ran off down the beach, and Sprite wondered why he was in such evident haste.

She turned the boat about, and rowed along in the direction that Max was going.

She saw him run along the beach, then stop and take something, a small book she thought, from his pocket, look steadfastly at it for a few moments, and then, after thrusting it back into his pocket, run on again.

She wondered what sort of book it was, and why Max seemed so very impatient in regard to seeing Gwen. He seemed bent upon running the entire length of the beach, and she watched him until he either entered, or ran behind the little shanty that some workmen were using as a tool house.

"I believe Max is as queer in some ways as Gwen is," mused Sprite.

"I wonder what that little book was, and why he had to stop to read it?"

A moment later she laughed, as she said: "There's one thing everyone knows, and that is that when Max and Gwen are together, they're sure to get into mischief. No one ever spends a minute wondering about that, because they _know_."

She ran the boat into shallow water, made it fast to a pile that had been placed there for the purpose, tying the rope through the iron ring on the post. Then she stepped over the side of the boat into the water, and waded ash.o.r.e. She wrung the water from her skirt, took off her shoes and emptied the water from them, and then ran up the beach toward home.

She opened the door and ran in.

The Captain would be out on the fishing trip all day, and it was evident that Mrs. Seaford had not yet returned from her trip to the store.

Sprite changed her drenched bathing suit for dry clothing, and hung the skirt and blouse up to dry.

She wondered why it was that she kept thinking of Max and his little book.

CHAPTER X

THE SHIP COMES IN

It had been a warm, sunny day, the little waves had danced gaily, and the beach had been dazzling in the full glare of noonday, but the afternoon had been cooler, and at twilight the wind had changed from its warm quarter, to Northeast.

Snug and warm in the "Syren's Cave," they heard the wind rising until it became an actual gale.

The Captain had built a fire of drift wood, the squatty lamp on the table gave out a yellow glare, and around the table sat the three members of the family, the cat occupying the tiny rug in front of the fire. Puss purred contentedly, blinking when the sparks snapped and twinkled.

Sprite bent over a fascinating book of fairy tales. The pictures were charming, the stories held her captive.

Usually she enjoyed playing with puss in front of the fire, saving her book for stormy days, but she had opened the book to look at the softly tinted pictures, and the first story that held her attention was the "Tale of the Gold Children," and she became so interested in their travels in search of their fortunes and of each other, that she could not put the book aside.

Her waving hair fell about her shoulders as she read, and the light from the big lamp shimmered upon it.

Mrs. Seaford, busy with her sewing, paused at times to look at the child absorbed in her book.

Captain Seaford, in a big arm chair, reading the "Cliffmore News,"

looked exceedingly comfortable, but his wife knew that while he held the paper before him, he was merely glancing at the reading matter, while his mind was elsewhere.

Often he put the paper down, laying it across his knees as if he were done reading. For a few moments he would sit thus, then again he would lift the paper as if he were endeavoring to keep his mind upon it, but finding it a difficult task.

A heavy gust of wind made the windows rattle, and shook the door as if clamoring for admittance. A second later, something was hurled against the side of the house, as if the gale were using small pieces of driftwood for missiles.

The Captain arose, dropped his paper in his chair, and strode to the door.

He seemed to be trying to scan the horizon, as if looking for a sail, but no object, far or near could possibly be distinguished in the utter darkness that hung over land and sea.