t is drifted on the seashore, we sat down, the
fine grains feeling delightful to our limbs, and made a hearty meal of
the remains left in the wallet.

It was wonderfully still there, the trees being quite motionless, and
the only sounds heard being the hum of some insect and the ripple of the
water a dozen yards away. High above us through the thin tracery of an
overhanging tree the sky looked of a brilliant blue, and away to left
and right extended the forest.

Pomp was lying face downwards, lazily scooping a hole in the sand, and
watching it trickle back as fast as he scraped it away, just as if it
were so much dry water in grains. I was lying on my back where the sand
sloped up to the bank; and as I gazed at the trees, half expecting to
see our boat sticking somewhere up among the branches, it seemed to me
as if I had never felt so happy and contented before. Perhaps it was
the soft, clear atmosphere, or the fact that I was resting, or that I
had just partaken of a pleasant meal. I don't know. All I can say is
that everything felt peaceful and restful; even Pomp, who as a rule was
like a piece of spring in motion. There was a lovely pale blue haze in
the distance, and a warm golden glow nearer at hand; the sun was getting
well to the west; and I knew that we must soon start and walk fast, so
as to get back, but I did not feel disposed to move for a few minutes.

We should be able to walk so much better after a rest, I thought, and we
should not stop to look for the boat, or at anything, but keep steadily
walking on, so that it would not take us a quarter of the time; and if
night did come on, the moon would rise early, and we could easily get to
the house.

How deliriously faint and blue that looked right away there in the
distance, and how still it all was! Even Pomp enjoyed the silence, and
I would not disturb him yet, but let him rest too. No fear of any
snakes coming if we were there, and in a few minutes I'd jump up, tell
Pomp, and we'd go and have a delicious bathe, and dry ourselves in the
warm sand; that would make us walk splendidly. But I would not wake him
yet--not just yet--I'd wake him presently, for he was so still that he
must have gone to sleep. There he lay with his face to the sand, and
his fingers half buried in the hole he had been scraping.

"What a fellow he is to snooze!" I thought to myself. "Lucky I'm not
so ready to go to sleep. How--how long shall I wait before I wake
him?