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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
69
There
were
also
pretty
canary-colored
cockle-shells
and
tiny
purple
mussels
washed
up
by
the
tide.
I
gathered
them
into
my
apron,
and
carried
them
home,
and
only
learned
that
they
too
held
living
inhabitants
by
seeing
a
dead
snail
protruding
from
every
shell
after
they
had
been
left
to
themselves
for
a
day
or
two.
This
made
me
careful
to
pick
up
only
the
empty
ones,
and
there
were
plenty
of
them.
One
we
called
a
"butterboat";
it
had
something
shaped
like
a
seat
across
the
end
of
it
on
the
inside.
And
the
curious
sea-urchin,
that
looked
as
if
he
was
made
only
for
ornament,
when
he
had
once
got
rid
of
his
spines,
and
the
transparent
jelly-fish,
that
seemed
to
have
no
more
right
to
be
alive
than
a
ladleful
of
mucilage,--and
the
razor-shells,
and
the
barnacles,
and
the
knotted
kelp,
and
the
flabby
green
sea-aprons,--there
was
no
end
to
the
interesting
things
I
found
when
I
was
trusted
to
go
down
to
the
edge
of
the
tide
alone.
The
tide
itself
was
the
greatest
marvel,
slipping
away
so
noiselessly,
and
creeping
back
so
softly
over
the
flats,
whispering
as
it
reached
the
sands,
and
laughing
aloud
"I
am
coming!"
as,
dashing
against
the
rocks,
it
drove
me
back
to
where
the
sea-lovage
and
purple
beach-peas
had
dared
to
root
themselves.
I
listened,
and
felt
through
all
my
little
being
that
great,
surging
word
of
power,
but
had
no
guess
of
its
meaning.
I
can
think
of
it
now
as
the
eternal
voice
of
Law,
ever
returning
to
the
green,
blossoming,
beautiful
verge
of
Gospel
truth,
to
confirm
its
later
revelation,
and
to
say
that
Law
and
Gospel
belong
together.
"The
sea
is
His,
and
He
made
it:
and
His
hands
formed
the
dry
land."
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