Part 6 (1/2)

'Be a sensible little woman to-day, my Biddy,' he said, 'and don't get into any sc.r.a.pes to worry your mamma.'

The child looked up into his face. Was it the yellowish morning light from over the sea--for it was clear and bright though cold--that made papa's face so pale? And yesterday he had looked so nice and rosy--Biddy felt rather strange; for the first time in her little life there came over her a faint, very faint shadow of _the_ shadow which, as we grow older, we learn cannot be avoided; the wings of the solemn angel seemed for an instant to brush her softly. Biddy trembled without understanding why.

'Papa, dear papa,' she said, but somehow no other words would come.

He kissed her again, and he smiled. It seemed to brighten up his face.

Bridget gave a sigh of relief: the potato boy's papa had got well, and very likely he too looked pale sometimes. Still that strange breath of feeling had left some result.

'Alie,' she said, as she trotted down the garden path beside her sister, the sixpence tightly clasped in her hand, 'is there anything I could get for a present for two of my pennies? I want to get some of the toys for myself with papa's three pennies, and I want to get a thimble with one, 'cos I've lost mine, and my workbox is messy-looking.'

'You can't get a proper one for a penny, not a silver one, and mamma says imitation ones are bad to wear,' said Rosalys. 'I've got my first thimble that's too small now--it's real silver. I'll give it you, and that'll leave you threepence for your present. But who's it for?'

'Three pennies won't do,' said Biddy. 'It must be two pennies, 'cos it's for papa, and he gave me three pennies, and it would just be like giving it him back again.'

Rosalys and Randolph glanced at each other. They could scarcely believe it was thoughtless Biddy speaking.

'Yes, I quite understand,' said Alie. 'Let's see--what could you get for papa? Can't you help us, Rough?'

Rough considered deeply.

'A purse--no, that would be too dear--or an inkstand?' he said.

'I'm sure an inkstand would be far dearer,' said Alie sharply. 'You're no good, Rough. I daresay we'll see something there, Biddy dear. I'll not forget.'

Bride felt very pleased. She was in high favour with Rosalys, she could see. She began jumping up and down the little gra.s.s-covered sandy hillocks that bordered the road, scarcely more than a cart-track, across the common between the Rectory and the little town.

'There's a shorter way if we turn, a little farther on,' said Rough. 'We can either get on to the road above the sh.o.r.e--it's a proper road--or cut across a very sandy place, much sandier than the common.'

'No,' said Alie, 'I'd rather go along the road even if it's farther.

Walking on sand is so tiresome, and spoils one's boots so. Biddy, I think you'd better walk quietly: remember what papa said, and you know you are rather unlucky.'

It was pleasant walking along the firm, hard road, and the fresh air was exhilarating--the suns.h.i.+ne, thin and wintry though it was, gilded palely the little shallow lakes and pools left by the outgoing tide along the sh.o.r.e, for it was almost low water now. Even the bare stretches of sand did not look ugly, as they sometimes do--a touch of suns.h.i.+ne makes all the difference! And the even stony path--a sort of natural breakwater running out towards the lighthouse--here and there caught a gleam or two from the sky.

'It looks quite different to last night,' said Alie. 'That's one thing I like the seaside for; it's always changing.'

'And the wind's gone down with the tide,' said Randolph, 'though it did blow last night. There'll be rough weather before long, everybody says.'

'I _would_ so like to be in the lighthouse if there was a storm,' said Biddy. 'That isn't naughty to wish, Alie, for the lighthouse is to keep away s.h.i.+pwrecks. And if there just _was_ one, you know, it _would_ be nice to be there to help the poor wet people, and carry them in to the fire, and rub them dry with hot blankets, like in that story, you know.'

'A lot you'd be able to carry,' said Rough contemptuously. 'Why, you're so fat and roundabout, and your legs are so short you can scarcely carry yourself.'

'Rough,' began Rosalys warningly. And

'_Alie_,' began Bridget at the same moment in her whining tone, 'do listen to him.'

But a peremptory 'Hush' from Randolph checked her. Both the girls looked up. A short, rather stout, pleasant-faced man was at that moment overtaking them.

'Good-morning, sir,' he said as he pa.s.sed, and 'Good-morning, Mr.