“Oh! no, thank you, mamma,” cried Agnes, “I will fasten it with a pin,” and she did, indeed, put a pin into it, but so carelessly that it fell out immediately, without her being aware of it. In fact, Agnes’s head was so full of the Pulpit-stone, that she could not stay to think about her handkerchief, and she ran away as fast as she could, passing through the narrow entrance, and climbing up behind the stone with the greatest agility. The pulpit-rock commanded a fine view, which Agnes stayed to look at; and, indeed, the rock itself took rather more time for Agnes to climb up and return than her papa had expected; so that, as soon as she re-entered the carriage, he desired the driver to go on. They passed through Bonchurch, and by Luccombe Chine, without stopping, and soon arrived at a very pretty little inn, called Williams’ Hotel, at Shanklin. CHAPTER VII. Consequences of carelessness.—Beach at Shanklin.—Lobster- pots.—Planorbis.—Marsh-snail.—Sea-rocket.—Starfish.—Crabs and Lobsters.—Seaweed—Mode of drying it.—Mussels.—Shanklin Chine.—The split shoe.—Shops at Shanklin. When the carriage stopped at Williams’ Hotel at Shanklin, Mrs. Merton asked Agnes what had become of her little pink silk handkerchief. Agnes mechanically put her hand to her neck; but, alas! no handkerchief was there. It was gone; and, though Agnes knew nothing about it, the probability was, that, at that very moment, it was dangling from one of the rough corners of the pulpit-stone. Agnes was quite in despair when this thought struck her; and she was most anxious to go back to seek it; but this Mrs. Merton would not hear of. “No,” said she; “I could forgive any loss that happened accidentally; but this was from downright carelessness.” Agnes was excessively vexed, and could not help crying; as the handkerchief had been given to her by her aunt Jane, and was a great favourite: Mrs. Merton, however, paid no attention to her tears, but walked into the inn with her husband, leaving poor Agnes to follow by herself. The little girl felt this neglect bitterly, and she wept so much before she could summon courage to appear again before her mother, that the mistress of the house, who was a very good-natured person, on her return from showing Mr. and Mrs. Merton to a room, began to pity the poor child, and advised her to go into the garden for a few minutes to recover herself. Agnes complied, and sat down, very sorrowfully, under a tree within sight of the window of the room in which her parents were. What appeared to Agnes a tremendously long time passed before they appeared to notice her; but at last Mrs. Merton, having placed her husband comfortably on the sofa, opened the glass door of their room, and walked across the lawn to where Agnes sat. The little girl started up immediately, and, meeting her mother, begged to be forgiven.