boat rocked on the waves.

She was in it in a moment, and again plying the oars, her shell 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 passed 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 shore, 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 s