"No," gasped Dale, very much out of breath; "my second-best."
"Thank goodness," said Mavis.
They made a fine solid meal at tea in a vast refreshment-hall on the
sands; Mavis and Norah, with their hats on adjacent chairs and their
hair untidy, helping the little ones to top and tail the first shrimps
that they had ever encountered; Dale eating heaps of shrimps and
drinking cup after cup of tea. The wind blew sand against the glass
front of the hall--the smell of the sea mingled with the smell of the
shrimps--and they were absolutely happy. But when all felt replete the
boy began to cry, and soon howled. "I wis' I lived here always, yes, I
do."
"O Billy, you like home best."
"No, I don't. I like this best. I hate home;" and he bellowed.
"He's getting tired," said Norah sagely.
"Yes," said Mavis. "That's all it is. He's getting tired."
He fell asleep directly they got into the lamplit train; and Norah
carried him from the station, carried him all the time the horse was
being put to and they were getting ready to leave. "He's too much for
you," said Dale kindly. "Give him to me."
"Oh, no, sir."
And Dale whispered approvingly to Mavis, saying that he liked Norah's
grit.
Then they drove home; Norah behind with the children, both of them
sleeping now; and Dale and Mavis side by side in front, talking
quietly as they passed beneath the dark trees and out beneath the
bright stars.