MARTIN PLAYS WITH THE WAVES After a night spent in the roar of the sea, a drenched and bruised prisoner among the rocks, it was nice to see the dawn again.

No sooner was it light than Martin set about trying to make his escape.
He had been washed by that big wave into a deep cleft among the rocks and masses of hard clay, and shut in there he could not see the water nor anything excepting a patch of sky above him.

Now he began climbing over the stones and crawling and forcing himself through crevices and other small openings, making a little progress, for he was sore from his bruises and very weak from his long fast, and at intervals, tired and beaten, he would drop down crying with pain and misery.

But Martin was by nature a very resolute little boy, and after two or three minutes' rest his tears would cease, and he would be up struggling on determinedly as before.

He was like some little wild animal when it finds itself captive in a cage or box or room, who tries without ceasing to find a way out.