the sand where the tide
was coming in, for that section of the beach made firmer footing.

"There's a good place for our picnic," finally decided Mollie, as she
saw a little clump of scrub evergreens which grew rather close to the
water. "We can eat and have a fine view at the same time."

"Is that the boys' boat out there?" asked Mollie, as they made their way
toward the bit of shade.

"No, that's a small schooner. It's been anchored there for some days,"
Betty said. "There's something queer about it, too."

"Something queer?" repeated Amy.

"Yes, the men in it don't seem to be gathering clams, which work all the
other schooners are engaged in around here, and they're not net
fishermen aboard her."

"Who told you that?" asked Mollie.

"Old Tin-Back. He notices anything odd about the boats. He said he
passed her in his dory the other day, and some one yelled to him not to
come too close."

"Why was that?" Grace asked.

"That's what Tin-Back didn't know. He thought it was very strange,"
Betty went on. "But come on, I know Grace must be--famished! Aren't you,
my dear?"

The baskets were opened, and the contents spread out on a cloth on the
sand. Grace reached for the bottle of olives.

"For an appetizer," she explained.

"You need it, after munching candy all the way here," commented Mollie.

And then, as they ate, the girls talked of many matters, now and then
looking off toward the bay or ocean, whereon could be seen many vessels,
mostly little clamming schooners, drifting with the wind on their
squared sails, dragging the big rakes along the bottom. But the schooner
of which Betty had spoken rose and fell at her anchor, and there was no
sign of life aboard.

"This is just perfect," remarked Grace, as she found a comfortable
position, leaning back against a tree. "Please don't disturb me, any
one, I'm going to sleep."

"I believe I'll join you," added Mollie. "Salt air always makes me
drowsy. Or perhaps it is the effect of the bright sun on the sand."

While Mollie and Grace closed their eyes, Betty dug idly in the sand,
and Amy produced a handkerchief and a tiny embroidery frame and began
initialling a corner.

"Virtuous girl," observed Betty. "You shame us all by your industry."

"It's only that I promised Henry I would put his initials on some new
handkerchiefs he bought," Amy explained. "I must hurry and finish them,
for he is going West on a trip soon."

"It's nice to have a brother," remar