John had supposed his collection to be, if not the only one in the world, at least the most magnificent, by long odds; yet here were the old man's precious units multiplied into tens, into twenties, sometimes into hundreds, and all lying open to the day, as if anyone, even a small one, even a little boy, who almost never had anything in his hand more precious than his own purple mussel at home, might touch and handle them and feel himself in heaven.
They gleamed with the banded glories of the rainbow: they softened into the moonlight beauty of the pearl; they veiled their loveliness in milky clouds, through which the color showed as pure and sweet as the cheek of a bride; they glowed with depths of red and flame that might almost burn to the touch.
The little boy stood with clasped hands, and sobbed with excitement.
"Did you dig up all the sea ?" he asked, in a wonder that was not without reproach.

"Are there none left any more, at all ?" The Skipper laughed quietly.

"The mermaids see not any difference, sir," he said.

"Where I take one shell from its rock, I leave a hundred, a thousand.

The sea is a good mother, she has plenty children.