“That all, nothing else?” Gonff laughed and waved his staff. “Good, then what are we lagging for?”

To their amazement, the mousethief skipped off singing,

I mustn’t drink the water,
And there may be nought to eat.
Those gulls may see a mousethief
As just a tasty treat.
I step out bravely on the quest,
Across this funny land,
And when I disappear they’ll say,
‘He’s found the sinking sand.’

“Nothing keeps our Gonff down for long,” Martin laughed. “Come on, let’s press on.”

* * *

They came out of the dunes at midafternoon. Before them stretched the shore: flat solid sand, dotted with small rocky outcrops. The sun glinted like gold leaf on the shimmering sea.

Log-a-Log ignored it and walked on. His three companions, however, could not help stopping momentarily to stare in awe at the distant reaches of mighty water. It staggered the imagination of woodlanders who had never witnessed such a spectacle.

Dinny could scarce credit his first sight of the sea.

“Hurr, oi sees it, but oi doant berleeve it. Whurr do it all cum from, Gloglog?”

“They say it’s always been there,” the shrew shrugged. “Like the sky and the ground. See this sand here with ridges on it like little waves? Well, that’s where the tidewater comes up to. You’ll probably see it flooding in soon. Keep your paws on the smooth sand, here, this side of all these shells and suchlike. That’s called a tideline.”

Dinny was fascinated with the shells. He picked lots of them up; when he could carry no more he would throw them away and start his collection afresh.

Without warning, a black-headed gull swooped down at them. All four fell flat upon the sand. Log-a-Log lashed out with his staff, catching it on the beak, and as it soared away, Martin hit it hard on the wing with a sling stone.

The gull wheeled, screaming angrily, then more seagulls flew in to investigate. Soon the four friends were hard-pressed defending themselves against aerial invaders.

Waving his staff at an oystercatcher, Martin called to Log-a-Log, “I thought you said they’d go away if we showed ’em we weren’t afraid of seabirds?”

Log-a-Log thwacked a common gull across its webbed claws.

“You can never tell with these birds. Quick, let’s make run for it. There’s some rocks over yonder!”

Waving their staves furiously, they dashed along the beach to where a rocky outcrop thrust up from the sand. Finding a fissure between the rocks, they huddled in together.

The gulls wheeled and circled awhile, screeching threateningly, diving toward the rocks, but sheering off at the last moment. Finally they gave up and flew off in search of other, easier prey.

Martin poked his head out into the open. “All clear, they’ve gone now,” he reported.

Log-a-Log climbed swiftly to the top of the rocks. “Look, mates—a rock pool. Get the fishing tackle out.”

Locked tightly in by the rocks there was a beautiful miniature lake of deep seawater, crystal clear. They sat on the edge, gazing into the colorful depths.