The strand here was glassy wet, and each curving wave sent a shadow flying over it, and came after the shadow, thundering and hissing, and chased it up the shore, and fell back, leaving for a second or two an edge of delicate froth which reminded the boy of his mother's lace-work.
He began a sort of game with the waves, choosing one station after another, and challenging them to catch him there.

If the edge of froth failed to reach his toes, he won.

But once or twice the water caught him fairly, and ran rippling over his instep and about his ankles.
He was deep in this game when he heard a horn blown somewhere high on the towans behind him.
He turned.

No one was in sight.

The house lay behind the sand-banks, the first ridge hiding even its chimney-smoke.