Wait for the empty hour and then fly into the second cove, and the next, and the next, but—­don’t forget the tide!

The sand-covered rough-haired terrier stood with his head cocked on one side, looking at the wonderful, waving, glistening mass in front of him.

It certainly looked like seaweed, but it didn’t smell like it, and long bits of it floated in the air just like golden threads; besides, there was something uncanny about it which sent thrills into the roots of his rough hair, causing it to rise in clumps along his spine.

It looked as if there were something dead underneath, too, and yet it didn’t; anyway it certainly did not look as though it were meant to be played with or barked at; and he hastened back along the treacherous narrow passage, which connects the two last coves, in search of him-who-knew-all and was never afraid.

“No, old fellow!” was the only response he got to his invitation to “come and see.”  “I’ve already been fooled over anemones, and rooks, and passing cloud shadows, and very dead starfish—­nothing’ doin’, so calm yourself!”

But the dog backed into a pool, emitting barks which were strangled at birth, snapped at a bit of rock which caught him unawares upon his unprotected flank, trotted forward, backed again into the pool, and turning, ran down the passage, came back and did it all over again.

Talk about water-drops wearing away a stone, why they are simply not in it when compared with a dog’s method of wearing down your resistance.  After the fifth repetition of the above tactics the man rose, stretched, put his pipe in his pocket, and hurling a pebble at the delighted quadruped, followed in its wake.

“Just look at that, and don’t say I’ve brought you here for nothing,” said the terrier, as plainly as he could with eyes and quivering body and tail.

The man looked and held up a finger, which caused the dog to sit up and beg, and walked as softly as possible up to Leonie who, tired out with worry, heartache, and a long swim, was sitting fast asleep on that one slanting, delightfully comfortable rock seat, with her hair spread out over her face, and down to her knees, mantle wise, to dry.

It is a somewhat ticklish job to lift an unknown lady’s hair and tell her abruptly that you think the tide is on the turn, and the man stood in perplexity, while his brain refused obstinately to register anything more practical than an overwhelming admiration for the picture before him.

However, with the attempt to unravel the problem, his hand went instinctively to the pocket which held his pipe, and the slight movement simultaneously upset his balance and solved the problem.

He slipped with a rasp of nails on rock, waved his arms in a manner likely to cause envy in any mere flag-wagger, and recovered himself with all the clatter and confusion inseparable, under such circumstances, from the saving of self-respect and the knees of skirt or breeches.