Bit more difficult than Mable, Edmund was, but that was alright. He was sensible. Had the common sense to direct his sister back onto the most logical path of action, whereas Malachi had a tendency to stray farther when allowed.

“Let’s search for shells then,” he decided with a dip of his head. “When we’re dressed for it, we can dig.”

Would he ever be dressed for it? Unlikely. It still wouldn’t stop him.

The walk to the beach wasn’t long, per se, but it took long enough that the sun had its effect. His hat shielded his eyes, but God, he was burning up beneath his robes before he knew it. There was little outward indication of his discomfort, but he was glad for the salty breeze that blew in off of the water to greet them.

“So, Mable,” addressed Malachi, with all the prim and proper dignity a priest should have.

“What’s your strategy?”