“Oh, he keeps coming, if that’s what you mean.  But do drop an umbrella, or a rubber, or something, next time, just to show a proper appreciation.”

But Mavering did not come any more.  Just before they got to the cove, Miss Anderson leaned over again to whisper in Alice’s ear, “I told you he was huyt.  Now you must be very good to him the rest of the time.”

Upon theory a girl of Alice Pasmer’s reserve ought to have resented this intervention, but it is not probable she did.  She flushed a little, but not with offence, apparently; and she was kinder to Mavering, and let him do everything for her that he could invent in transferring the things from the wagons to the rocks.

The party gave a gaiety to the wild place which accented its proper charm, as they scattered themselves over the ledges on the bright shawls spread upon the level spaces.  On either hand craggy bluffs hemmed the cove in, but below the ledge it had a pebbly beach strewn with drift-wood, and the Bay of Fundy gloomed before it with small fishing craft tipping and tilting on the swell in the foreground, and dim sail melting into the dun fog bank at the horizon’s edge.

The elder ladies of the party stood up, or stretched themselves on the shawls, as they found this or that posture more restful after their long drive; one, who was skilled in making coffee, had taken possession of the pot, and was demanding fire and water for it.  The men scattered themselves over the beach, and brought her drift enough to roast an ox; two of them fetched water from the spring at the back of the ledge, whither they then carried the bottles of ale to cool in its thrilling pool.  Each after his or her fashion symbolised a return to nature by some act or word of self-abandon.

“You ought to have brought heavier shoes,” said Mrs. Pasmer, with a serious glance at her daughter’s feet.  “Well, never mind,” she added.  “It doesn’t matter if you do spoil them.”

“Really,” cried Mrs Brinkley, casting her sandals from her, “I will not be enslaved to rubbers in such a sylvan scene as this, at any rate.”

“Look at Mrs. Stamwell!” said Miss Cotton.  “She’s actually taken her hat off.”

Mrs. Stamwell had not only gone to this extreme, but had tied a lightly fluttering handkerchief round her hair.  She said she should certainly not put on that heavy thing again till she got in sight of civilisation.

At these words Miss Cotton boldly drew off her gloves, and put them in her pocket.

The young girls, slim in their blues flannel skirts and their broad white canvas belts, went and came over the rocks.  There were some children in the party, who were allowed to scream uninterruptedly in the games which they began to play as soon as they found their feet after getting out of the wagons.

Some of the gentlemen drove a stake into the beach, and threw stones at it, to see which could knock off the pebble balanced on its top.  Several of the ladies joined them in the sport, and shrieked and laughed when they made wild shots with the missiles the men politely gathered for them.