“Very different from the home life of our dear Queen!” said Susan, when they were out in the air again.

The road now ran between marshy places full of whispering reeds, occasional crazy fences must be crossed, occasional pools carefully skirted.  And then they were really crossing the difficult strip of sandy dead grasses, and cocoanut shells, and long-dried seaweeds that had been tossed up by the sea in a long ridge on the beach, and were racing on the smooth sand, where the dangerous looking breakers were rolling so harmlessly.  They shouted to each other now, above the roar of the water, as they gathered drift-wood for their fire, and when the blaze was well started, indulged in the fascinating pastime of running in long curves so near to the incoming level rush of the waves that they were all soon wet enough to feel that no further harm could be done by frankly wading in the shallows, posing for Philip’s camera on half-submerged rocks, and chasing each other through a frantic game of beach tag.  It was the prudent Josephine,—­ for Anna was too dreamy and unpractical to bring her attention to detail,—­who suggested a general drying of shoes, as they gathered about the fire for the lunch—­toasted sandwiches, and roasted potatoes, and large wedges of apple-pie, and the tin mugs of delicious coffee that crowned all these feasts.  Only sea-air accounted for the quantities in which the edibles disappeared; the pasteboard boxes and the basket were emptied to the last crumb, and the coffee-pot refilled and emptied again.

The meal was not long over, and the stiffened boots were being buttoned with the aid of bent hairpins, when the usual horrifying discovery of the time was made.  Frantic hurrying ensued, the tin cups, dripping salt water, were strung on a cord, the cardboard boxes fed the last flicker of the fire, the coffee-pot was emptied into the waves.

And they were off again, climbing up—­up—­up the long rise of the hills.  The way home always seemed twice the way out, but Susan found it a soothing, comforting experience to-day.  The sun went behind a cloud; cows filed into the ranch gates for milking; a fine fog blew up from the sea.

“Wonderful day, Anna!” Susan said.  The two were alone together again.

“These walks do make you over,” Anna’s bright face clouded a little as she turned to look down the long road they had come.  “It’s all so beautiful, Sue,” she said, slowly, “and the spring is so beautiful, and books and music and fires are so beautiful.  Why aren’t they enough?  Nobody can take those things away from us!”

“I know,” Susan said briefly, comprehending.

“But we set our hearts on some silly thing not worth one of these fogs,” Anna mused, “and nothing but that one thing seems to count!”

“I know,” Susan said again.  She thought of Peter Coleman.

“There’s a doctor at the hospital,” Anna said suddenly.  “A German, Doctor Hoffman.  Of course I’m only one of twenty girls to him, now.  But I’ve often thought that if I had pretty gowns, and the sort of home,—­you know what I mean, Sue! to which one could ask that type of really distinguished man—–­”