She found a wide stretch of sand crowded with bathers and spectators.  It had been a long time since she had visited the seashore, and she discovered that seaside customs and costumes had changed very much.  She was surprised, amused, and at times indignant; but, as she had come to look for the Bannisters, she confined herself to that business, postponing reflections and judgments.

Her search proved to be a difficult one.  She walked up and down the beach until she assured herself that the Bannisters and Miriam were not among those who had come as lookers-on, or merely to breathe the salt air and enjoy the ocean view.  When she came to scrutinize the bathers, whether they were disporting themselves in the sea or standing or lying about on the sand, she found it would be almost impossible to recognize anybody in that motley crowd.

“I can scarcely make out,” she said to herself, “whether they are men or women, much less whether I know them or not.  But if the Bannisters and Miriam are among those water-monkeys, I shall know them when I see their faces, and then I shall take the first chance I get to tell them what I think of them.”

It was not long before Miss Panney began to grow tired.  She was not used to trudging through soft sand, and she had walked a good deal before she reached the beach.  She concluded, therefore, to look for a place where she might sit down and rest, and if her friends did not show themselves in a reasonable time she would go back to their hotel and wait for them there; but she saw no chairs nor benches, and as for imitating the hundreds of well-dressed people who were sitting down in the dirt,—­for to Miss Panney sand was as much dirt as any other pulverized portion of the earth’s surface,—­she had never done such a thing, and she did not intend to.

Approaching a boat which was drawn up high and dry, she seated herself upon, or rather leaned against, its side.  The bathing-master, a burly fellow in a bathing-costume, turned to her and informed her courteously but decidedly that she must not sit upon that boat.

“I do not see why,” said Miss Panney, sharply, as she rose “for it is not of any use in any other way, lying up here on the sand.”

She had scarcely finished speaking when the bathing master sprang to his feet so suddenly that it made Miss Panney jump.  For a moment the man stood listening, and then ran rapidly down the beach.  Now Miss Panney heard, coming from the sea, a cry of “Help!  Help!”

Other people heard it, too, and began hurrying after the bathing master.  The cry, which was repeated again and again, came from a group of bathers who were swimming far from shore, opposite a point on the beach a hundred yards or more from where Miss Panney was standing.  The spectators now became greatly excited, and crowds of them began to run along the beach, while many people came out of the sea and joined the hurrying throng.

Still the cries came from the ocean, but they were feebler.  Those experienced in such matters saw what had happened, a party of four bathers, swimming out beyond the breakers, had been caught in what is called a “seapuss,” an eccentric current, too powerful for them to overcome, and they were unable to reach the shore.