when he called
out--

"Stop a minute, Dick, and I will go with you; I should like to make the
acquaintance of the old sailor, who, from your account, must be
something above the common."

I did not like to refuse, at the same time I confess that I would rather
have gone alone, as I knew that Ned did not care about fishing, and
would probably want to stop and talk to Roger Riddle.

I was waiting for him outside in front of the house, when a carriage
drove up full of boys, with a gentleman who asked me if my father was at
home. I recognised him as a Mr Reynell, who lived at Springfield
Grange, some five or six miles inland. Two of the boys were his sons,
whom I knew; the others, he told me, were their cousins and two friends
staying with them.

"We are going to have a picnic along the shore, and we want you and your
brother to come and join us," said Harry Reynell, the eldest of the two.

Ned came out directly afterwards, and said he should be very happy to
go.

"Can't you get any of your friends to go also? The more the merrier."

There were two or three other boys whom I knew staying with an aunt in
the village, and I offered to run down and ask them.

"By all means," said Harry, "we have provisions enough, so that they
need not stop to get anything; but I'm afraid we cannot stow them all
away; if it's not very far off we may go on foot."

"It is no distance to the prettiest part of the coast," I replied; "and
I know a capital spot where we can pick up shells and collect
curiosities of all sorts, if any of you have a fancy for that sort of
thing."

"That will do," said Harry Reynell; "go and fetch your friends, and we
will walk together."

I accordingly ran down the village to Mrs Parker's, whose nephews were
at home. We formed a tolerably numerous party. As my father was unable
to go, Mr Reynell was the only grown-up person among us. The spot I
had fixed upon was not far from Roger Riddle's cottage. As I had been
thinking of him, I proposed asking the old sailor and Mark to join our
party.

From the account I gave to Mr Reynell of Roger Riddle, he did not
object to this. As Harry Reynell, his brother, and friends were
good-natured merry fellows, we had a pleasant time as we walked or ran
along, laughing and singing, and playing each other tricks. We soon
left Mr Reynell behind, but he told us not to mind him, as he should
soon catch us up. The carriage followed with the prog, but as the road