The Magic Comb
One bright morning in August little Mary Louise put on her hat and
went trudging across the meadow to the beach.
It was the first time she had been trusted out alone since the family had
moved to the seashore for the summer; for Mary Louise was a little girl,
nothing about her was large, except her round gray eyes.
There was a pale mist on the far-off sea, and up around the sun were
white clouds edged with the hues of pinks and violets. The tide was
coming in, and the waves, little at first, but growing larger every moment,
were crowding up, along the sand and pebbles, laughing, winking and
whispering, as they tumbled over each other, like thousands of children
hurrying home from school.
Who was down there under the blue water, with the hoarse, hollow
voice, urging and pushing them across the beach to her feet? And what
was there beneath the sea, and beyond the sea, so deep, so broad and so
dim, away off where the white ships, that looked smaller than seabirds,
were gliding out and in?