I woke up and looked at her. She was about seven years old, pretty,
dark, and very much at ease.

"I should love it," I said.

She produced a large paper bag from somewhere, and poured the
contents in front of me.

"I've got two hundred and fifty-eight," she announced.

"So I see," I said. I wasn't going to count them."

"I think they're very pretty. I'll give you one if you like. Which
one will you choose?"

I sat up and examined them carefully. Seeing how short a time we had
known each other, I didn't feel that I could take one of the good
ones. After a little thought I chose quite a plain one, which had
belonged to a winkle some weeks ago.

"Thank you very much," I said.

"I don't think you choose shells at all well," she said scornfully.
"That's one of the ugly ones."

"It will grow on me," I explained. "In a year or two I shall think
it beautiful."

"I'll let you have this one too," said she, picking out the best.