cles suddenly turned up and began bawling from his inaccessible wall top something foolish about his ladder. Nobody thought of his silly ladder or took any trouble about it, naturally. He was quite stupidly excited. To judge by his tone and gestures he was using dreadful language and seemed disposed every moment to jump down to the beach and come to them.
And then to crown the situation, over the westward groin appeared Low Excursionists!
First of all their heads came, and then their remarks. Then they began to clamber the breakwater with joyful shouts.
"Pip, Pip," said the Low Excursionists as they climbed—it was the year of "pip, pip"—and, "What HO she bumps!" and then less generally, "What's up 'ere?"
And the voices of other Low Excursionists still invisible answered, "Pip, Pip."
It was evidently a large party.
"Anything wrong?" shouted one of the Low Excursionists at a venture.
"My dear!" said Mrs. Bunting to Mabel, "what are we to do?" And in her description of the affair to my cousin Melville she used always to make that the clou of the story. "My DEAR! What ARE we to do?"
I believe that in her desperation she even glanced at the water. But of course to have put the mermaid back then would have involved the most terrible explanations. . . .
It was evident there was only one thing to be done.
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