The wind came up strong from the west and blew the waves sideways, though the whitecaps hurled straight in on the coming tide. George walked far ahead of us, searching out new wood. The sun had begun its lowering and, I think, it was that slant and the wind that set a weird light bouncing on the rocks covering the beach—noticeable enough for Hayden Gilroy to stop his walking and crouch, sifting stones through his fingers and holding up the smooth globes to the wind. Susannah walked onward on some pretext after George—it would not do for her to rest all the time with Mr. Gilroy, he might think her forward, or, worse still, an interested party. Mr. Thomas was stopped at the water’s edge nearby.

I regarded the random collection of rocks splayed along the line of my boot tips. Next to my right boot lay a perfect stone egg, mouse gray and flecked with tiny spots of bluish green, battered smooth—so smooth, I fancied I could feel the waters that had made it still slipping from the face. Return, you must, I thought, and with a single motion grabbed it from its resting place and turned and hurled the stone straight out into the broiling water, feeling the weight of that stone still in my hand even as it left me.

“Bravo.” Mr. Gilroy was standing beside me.

I smiled. “Let us see if your arm surpasses mine.”

Without answering, he bent and chose a like stone in weight, this one round as a newel post and again as smooth; then he leaned back, his arm behind his head, and took a running step toward the sea and then shot out his arm so the stone hurtled far past where mine had sunk, to vanish in the deeper water. He turned for my applause. I shrugged.

“The target does not hold. It is far too difficult to discern whose has fallen where.”

He grinned at my gaming and motioned up the beach where Susannah’s back grew more and more distant. I nodded.

This time I chose a round rock also, and one of smaller heft than my first. The wind was in my favor, but I wanted all advantage. “Show me,” I ordered, “that little step and toss.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“The little throwing jig you did just then before you hurled it to the sea.” I could see he meant to extend the game to suit himself, so, quickly as I had asked for help, I turned from that direction and set myself to aiming instead for Susannah, far from us, but providing me with a point to imagine hitting. I rocked a bit, the way I had just seen Mr. Gilroy do, and drew back my arm, when suddenly he was all round me, his one hand at my waist and the other upon my throwing wrist, detaining its free motion.