This wave Maggie had declared to
be unnatural and impossible, whilst the adventure-book young gentleman
clung to and defended an illustration which had helped him so vividly to
realize the sea-perils of his hero.
It was the day following that of Cousin Peregrine's arrival, and when
evening arrived the two children carried the book down with them to
dessert, and attacked Cousin Peregrine simultaneously.
"Cousin Peregrine, you've been at sea: isn't that an impossible wave?"
"Cousin Peregrine, you've been at sea: aren't there sometimes waves like
that in foreign places?"
"It's not very cleverly drawn," said Cousin Peregrine, examining the
wood-cut; "but making allowance for that, I have seen waves not at all
unlike this one."
"There!" cried the young gentleman triumphantly. "Maggie laughed at it,
and said it was like a wall."
"Some waves are very like walls, but those are surf-waves, as they are
called, that is, waves which break upon a shore. The waves I am thinking
of just now are more like mountains--translucent blackish-blue
mountains--mountains that look as if they were made of bottle-green
glass, like the glass mountain in the fairy tale, or shining mountains
of phosphorescent light--meeting you as if, they would overwhelm you,
passing under you, and tossing you like the old woman in the blanket,
and then running away behind you as you go to meet another.
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