Between the green, green slope and the blue, blue sea lay a stretch of sand that looked like a carpet of jewelled cloth of gold, for it was not greyish as our northern sand is, but yellow and changing--opal-coloured like sunshine and rainbows.
And at the very moment when the wild, whirling, blinding, deafening, tumbling upside-downness of the carpet-moving stopped, the children had the happiness of seeing three large live turtles waddle down to the edge of the sea and disappear in the water.

And it was hotter than you can possibly imagine, unless you think of ovens on a baking-day.
Every one without an instant's hesitation tore off its London-in-November outdoor clothes, and Anthea took off the Lamb's highwayman blue coat and his three-cornered hat, and then his jersey, and then the Lamb himself suddenly slipped out of his little blue tight breeches and stood up happy and hot in his little white shirt.
'I'm sure it's much warmer than the seaside in the summer,' said Anthea.
'Mother always lets us go barefoot then.' So the Lamb's shoes and socks and gaiters came off, and he stood digging his happy naked pink toes into the golden smooth sand.
'I'm a little white duck-dickie,' said he--'a little white duck-dickie what swims,' and splashed quacking into a sandy pool.
'Let him,' said Anthea; 'it can't hurt him.

Oh, how hot it is!' The cook suddenly opened her eyes and screamed, shut them, screamed again, opened her eyes once more and said-- 'Why, drat my cats alive, what's all this?
It's a dream, I expect.
Well, it's the best I ever dreamed.

I'll look it up in the dream-book to-morrow.

Seaside and trees and a carpet to sit on.