And then I got into trouble,--I don't know another girl that gets
into scrapes as I do!
There were lots of little coves about the beach,--the water in them
was just as clear as crystal; and as I stepped from rock to rock,
bending down to look into the depths, what should I do but slip,--the
rocks _are_ slippery,--and land in the middle of a cove, up to my waist
in water!
There was nothing to do but to scramble out,--the rocks ran too far out
into the ocean to think of walking round them,--and I can assure you it
was no easy thing to accomplish with my wet skirts clinging to me. I
scratched my hands, and scraped my shoes, and got my sleeves and the
whole front of my nice gingham stained with the green slimy moss that
covered the rocks.
But at last I got out; then came the walk up the beach to the
house,--there was no other way of getting there,--and you may imagine my
feelings when, half-way up, I discovered that Mrs. Erveng was seated on
the piazza in her invalid's chair. I saw her put her _lorgnette_ to her
eyes; I imagined I heard her say to Hilliard, who was arranging a
cushion back of her head, "Who _is_ that extraordinary looking creature
coming up the beach?" and I _longed_ to just burrow in the sand and get
out of her sight.
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