I ran up on the beach. Mamma swabbed me with a furry towel. 'Stand there and dry,' she said. I stood there, watching the sun take away the water beads on my arms. I replaced them with goose-pimples. 'My, there's a wind,' said Mamma. 'Put on your sweater.' 'Wait'll I watch my goose-bumps,' I said. 'Harold,' said Mamma. I put the sweater on and watched the waves come up and fall down on the beach. But not clumsily. On purpose, with a green sort of elegance. Even a drunken man could not collapse with such elegance as those waves. It was September. In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason. The beach was so long and lonely with only about six people on it. The kids quit bouncing the ball because somehow the wind made them sad, too, whistling the way it did, and the kids sat down and felt autumn come along the endless shore.
