Everyone, everything was ready for the grand carnival and pageant.

The children were more than ready.  They were eager.

Their costumes were completed, and they knew exactly how they were expected to pose, so that each should do her part to make the procession beautiful.

Even the sun seemed intent upon doing his share, and as he rose from the water, appeared to be smiling upon sea and land.

At the far end of the beach was a huge canvas tent, and all of the “trappings,” or “properties” were stored beneath its shelter.  From this tent the procession would start, and pass along the beach, where hundreds of spectators would be watching from the tiers of seats that had been erected along the route.

Princess Polly, Rose, and Sprite stood waiting to take their places.

“What do you suppose Gwen and Max meant?” Polly asked.

“When they said they’d get up something of their own?” said Rose.

“Why, yes,” Polly said.  “Don’t you remember how they spoke?”

“Oh, yes, I know,” Rose replied, “but Gwen and Max often say they’ll do things, and then they don’t do at all as they say they will.  They speak like that when they’re provoked, and then they forget all about it.”

“Do you know,” Sprite said, “I think this time they’ll remember what they said, and I’m just wondering what they will do.”

A trumpet called the children to order, and soon all was bustle and excitement.

Then when all were ready, the long line of lovely children attired in rainbow hues, with here and there an adult figure to add dignity to the pageant, slowly made its way along the beach, receiving cheers and applause from the delighted on-lookers.

First came a group of thirty of the village children, dressed as water sprites, and blowing on soft-toned silver horns.

Their tunics were pale rose, and their cheeks were as pink as their draperies.

Gilded sandals were on their feet, and they blew their silvery notes with a will.

Following the water sprites, came a troop of small boys tripping along, and dressed as little mermen, their green scales glittering in the warm sunlight, their caps of braided seaweed bordered with tiny scallop shells.

They carried triangles, and gaily they marked the time, laughing as they tramped along.

There were floats upon which were grouped children and grown-ups in tableaux representing historical events.

There was a tall may-pole carried by a man dressed as a jester, and boys and girls in early English peasant costumes held the ends of the long fluttering ribbons, laughing as the crowd applauded.

Group after group passed along, and one that called forth loud cheering was composed of boys and girls dressed as little farmers and their chubby wives.

The small boys wore overalls and straw hats, the girls wore pink sunbonnets, pink gowns, and blue aprons, but both boys and girls carried rakes on their shoulders, and gay companions they seemed to be.

The greatest delight, the loudest cheering greeted the great gilded chariot, drawn by six white horses hired for the occasion by Captain Atherton.

Each steed boasted a white harness, and from the head of each floated streamers of green ribbon.

Who would ever have dreamed that the imposing Sea King who stood so proudly in his chariot firmly grasping the reins, was none other than Captain Seaford, the father of little Sprite.

A white wig and beard had changed him completely, and his costume of sea-green draperies was most becoming.

In his left hand he carried a gilded trident.

In the chariot with him as his nymphs were Princess Polly, in pink, Rose Atherton in blue, and little Sprite in yellow, three charming nymphs, surely.

Brownies, elves, gnomes, a crowd of small boys dressed to represent any number of different kinds of fishes were followed by girls among whom might be seen Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and a host of other fairy tale heroines.

There were little hunters, and fishermen, but all agreed that the Sea King with his nymphs, his chariot and his fine horses was best of all.

Polly, Rose, and Sprite were just saying that Gwen and Max had kept out of sight in spite of their declaration that they would be in the procession, in costumes of their own choosing, when Polly happened to turn, and look back.

“Oo ­oo ­oo!  Look!” she cried, and Rose and Sprite, and even the stately Sea King turned to learn what had startled her.

Too surprised to speak, they watched a little team with two occupants, approaching at headlong speed.

A smart cart drawn by a gray donkey came tearing down the beach.  Max dressed as a farmer, with blue overalls and straw hat, was making a desperate effort to control the donkey, while Gwen in a chintz frock and pink sunbonnet sat close beside him, clinging to her seat in abject fear.

Evidently they had been late in getting started, and had endeavored to gain sufficient speed to “catch up” with the procession.

Max had been vexed that at first the balky little beast could not be induced to hasten, and for a long time he continued to walk at a fearfully slow pace, paying no heed to shouting, or a taste of the whip.

Then, when Max put down the whip, and let the reins lie loosely across the little creature’s back, Neddy suddenly decided to go, and go he did, galloping along at a rate that set the light cart swaying from side to side, and threatening, at any moment, to throw Max and Gwen out.

“Stop him!  Do stop him!” cried Gwen, “He’s running away!”

“I cant!” screamed Max.  “First he wouldn’t go, and now he won’t stop!”

The procession halted, and a big boy sprang forward, endeavoring to snatch at the bridle.

The intention was good, but the donkey, maddened that anyone should try to stop him, shied, and the boy and girl were hurled out upon the sand.

Max turned a complete somersault and came up on his feet, declaring himself unhurt, but Gwen took an entirely different view of the matter.

She was not hurt, but her temper was decidedly ruffled.

“Well, I declare!” she cried, “I do think everyone is horrid, but I think Max is just a little horrider than the rest!”

“Why, Gwen, he did his best to stop, but the donkey just wouldn’t,” said Sprite.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been spilled if I hadn’t been riding with Max, would I?” cried Gwen.  “Something always happens when I go anywhere with Max.  Funny I don’t ever remember it.  Just as soon as something’s happened, away I go somewhere else with him.”

Gwen could not imagine why they all laughed.

Meanwhile the donkey having run as far as he cared to, stood far down the beach, looking out across the waves, as calmly as if he could stand there for hours.  Indeed one could hardly think that he was the same little beast that, a short time before, had bolted so furiously.

Captain Atherton, who had left the crowd, and quietly followed Neddy, now quickly approached him.  He made no attempt to escape, but instead, allowed himself to be led as gently as if he really preferred to go that way.

Very meek he looked, as with the Captain’s firm hand on the bridle, he approached the crowd that had watched him when he ran wildly along the beach.

Max was more than willing to clamber into the cart, and for the remainder of the route, be a part of the procession.  Gwen, first flatly refused to ride, but after much coaxing she finally consented, and took her place beside Max, and so odd was the expression of her face that Max afterward said that he could not tell whether she was “mad or scared.”

“Half mad and half scared,” Gwen replied.  “Mad to have to ride again with you, and scared for fear Neddy would run away again.”

The donkey behaved very well, however.  He had run all he cared to for one while, and he walked along behind the Sea King’s chariot, as quietly as if he had never once dreamed of running away.

After a while, Gwen began to be so glad that she was indeed, in the pageant, that she looked about her, and actually smiled when some of the other children spoke to her.

At the end of the route, a fine lunch was served in a pavilion that looked out on the beach.

Captain Atherton had provided it, and it was heartily enjoyed by all who had taken part in the pageant, as well their friends who were also invited.

After the good things had been partaken of, the little guests danced to the music furnished by an orchestra that had been playing during the feasting, and eyes sparkled, and cheeks grew rosy with excitement.

It had been a delightful day, and for days afterward the children and those who had been spectators, talked of the lovely pageant, that had made its glittering way along the beach.

Captain Seaford sat just outside the door of his house, mending a net, or rather, attempting to mend it, for his mind was not upon his work, and from time to time he let the net lie on his knees, while he looked out across the dancing waves as he was hoping to see a vessel appear on the horizon.

He would sit thus for a time, and then shake his head and resume his work.

A dancing, springing footstep brought Sprite to the door, and as soon as she saw how eagerly he scanned the sea, she crept softly toward him, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, peeped around into his eyes.

“What you thinking of, Pa?” she asked quickly.

“Nothing much little girl,” he said gently.

She lifted her fore-finger, nodding wisely as she spoke.

“It might not be much,” she said, “but it’s enough so you worry about it.  Tell me, Pa, what’s vexing you.”

After a moment in which both were silent, she spoke again, but with her soft little arms about his neck.

“Was it about Ma, or me you were thinking?” she asked.  “You looked so sober, that I know it was about someone that you cared for.”

“I was thinking of you both, Sprite,” he said, as he drew her closer, “and of the vessel that is almost a week overdue.  If she comes in, the venture that I made on her cargo, will bring what some folks would call a small sum of money, but to us, it would be a small fortune.”

“A week overdue!  I’m not so selfish that I don’t give a thought for those on board that have perished if she’s lost.  That’s simply doubled the worry.”

A warm tear fell on his rough hand, and he looked up quickly.

“Tut, tut!  Little Sprite!  Don’t cry yet.  It may be that she’s only delayed, and will sail into port, with all hands on board and her cargo safe.  You’re too young to worry now.  Cheer up!  Pa’s not really worrying yet, only wondering, little Sprite, wondering.”

That would have settled the matter for some children, but Sprite saw more clearly, thought more deeply than does the average child, and she knew that he was trying to cheer and comfort her while at heart he was deeply concerned, for the fate of the vessel for which he had been eagerly waiting.

“But she could come in now and be all right, couldn’t she?” Sprite asked.  “Or is it so late that you almost know that something has happened to her?”

“No, no, Sprite.  It’s not too late for her to arrive safe and sound, but as the days pass I catch myself watching a bit closer for her coming.  Why did the tears come, Sprite?  I never like to have you grieving, dear.”

“The tears always come if I think anything has disappointed you, or Ma,” Sprite said, softly.  “That’s why I tried so hard to win the prize last Spring, when all the other pupils were working for it, too.  I didn’t care half so much about getting it for myself, as for you.”

He drew her yet closer.

“Dear little Sprite,” he said.

“And now I’m going to hope that the vessel will come sailing in with a big load of luck on board.  I’ll tell you one thing; I saw the moon over my right shoulder last night, and all the sailors say that’s lucky.”

Captain Seaford laughed at this bit of superstition offered to him as a crumb of comfort.

She laughed with him, and stooping, picked up a small star fish.

“I’ll toss this up three times.  If it comes down on the sand, twice out of three times right side up, it will be the same as saying that the vessel is safe, and will return all right.”

Three times she tossed it up, only a few inches from the sand lest it break.

“Once!  Right side up!” she cried, a rippling laugh following her words.

“Twice!  Wrong side up!  Oh, Pa, which will it be next time?”

A moment she stood irresolute as if half fearing to test their luck the third time.  She turned the star fish over and over in her hand, then, as if she thought waiting useless, she tossed it lightly up.

“Oo ­oo!  Look!  Look Pa!” she cried, “It’s right side up!  Pa, I do believe the vessel will come in safely.  My!  Wouldn’t it have been awful if the star fish had fallen the other side up?”

“My little Sprite is a great comfort,” he said, “and the tossing of the star fish is harmless fun, but I’d not like to think that you’d believe all the superstitious yarns that the sailors tell.”

“Oh, no,” was the earnest reply.  “I know that some of them could not be true, but there’s one funny one that a sailor down on the pier told yesterday.

“He said you could go down stairs backwards after dark, and look into a mirror you held in your hand, and see something, I don’t know what, but I’m going to try it.  I’ll try it just to know what I’d see, or to find out what would happen.  He said something was sure, just sure to happen.”

“The something that would happen would be that you’d fall, and perhaps break your pretty neck,” Captain Seaford said, “but as to what you’d see in the glass!  Why, that is all nonsense.  Here and there is a sailor that’s as full of such silly notions as a weather vane.

“That sort of sailor listens to all the yarns he hears, believes them all, tells them all, and generally he isn’t any too careful to tell them just as he heard them.

“He’s apt to add just a little of his own nonsense to the yarn he heard to make it interesting.”