August 17 + 

Had a glorious time on the rocks at low tide prawning. Caught some Five-Bearded Rocklings and a large Cottus bubalis. The sun did not simply shine today⁠—it came rushing down from the sky in a cataract and flooded the sands with light. Sitting on a rock, with prawning net over my knees I looked along three miles of flat hard and yellow sands. The sun poured down on them so heavily that it seemed to raise a luminous golden yellow dust for about three feet high. + 

On the rocks was a pretty flapper in a pink sunbonnet⁠—also prawning in company of S⁠⸺, the artist, who has sent her picture to the Royal Academy. They saw I was a naturalist, so my services were secured to pronounce my judgment on a “fish” she had caught. It was a Squid, “an odd little beast,” in truth, as she said. “The same class of animal,” I volunteered, “as the Cuttlefish and Octopus.” + 

“Does it sting?” + 

“Oh, no!” + 

“Well, it ought to with a face like that.” She laughed merrily, and the bearded but youthful artist laughed too. + 

“I don’t know anything about these things,” he said hopelessly. + 

“Nor I,” said the naturalist modestly. “I study fish.” + 

This was puzzling. “Fish?” What was a Squid then? + 

… The artist would stop now and then and raise his glasses at a passing ship, and Maud’s face occasionally disappeared in the pink sunbonnet as she stooped over a pool to examine a seaweed or crab. + 

She’s a dear⁠—and she gave me the Squid. What a merry little cuss! + 