(Continued from page 199.)

It was not very long before Jack returned to tell them all was ready, and to laugh at Estelle's eager face and sparkling eyes.

'I don't want you to tell me what it is,' she cried. 'It will be a real surprise. I love surprises!'

Jack called her a 'contrairy' young lady, who wanted to know every thing one moment and nothing the next. Mrs. Wright, in a wonderful black bonnet, appeared at that instant, her arms full of warm things. Estelle sprang to her feet in delight, scarcely able to stand still a second to have her hat put on, and the big cloak wrapped round her slender little figure.

'Gently, gently, dear,' said Mrs. Wright, as the child bounded towards the door the moment she was released.

Jack laughed. 'That will never do,' he said; 'you must walk before you can run, Missie.'

As long as she went out, she did not care about the manner of her going, and willingly allowed Jack to lift her in his strong arms. Mrs. Wright opened the door at the end of the kitchen, and Estelle found herself on a terrace, where some high shrubs hid the view beyond, and a few flowers had been planted wherever there was soil enough for them. A steep path led down the cliff till they came to a wider place, whence there were two routes—one which Jack pursued, narrow and rough; the other, broader and paved here and there with cobble stones, in order to keep the earth from being washed down the hill.

'That's the way to Tout-Petit, our little fishing village,' said Jack. 'You may walk miles before you will see anything half so pretty. But oh, the dirt!'

'Everything is thrown out into the middle of the street,' added Mrs. Wright, making a face as if the remembrance of certain sights was not pleasant. 'It takes a good heavy rain to wash them places clean. Oh!' as a stone rolled under her feet. 'I do believe, Jack, this path gets worse and worse.'

'I wish I could carry you, dear Goody!' said Estelle, smiling at her over Jack's shoulder, and brimming over with a happiness which made her long to impart some of it to others.

'Or that I could carry you both at once,' laughed Jack. 'Mother is an independent body, Missie, and many's the time I'm obliged to take the law into my own hands, when it's a matter of helping her for her good. She does not like to be done good to against her will.'

'And Jack takes after his mother if that's her character,' retorted Mrs. Wright, laughing.

'Then you would not wish him to be different,' said Estelle, with a look of affection at Mrs. Wright.

'Yes, she would!' exclaimed Jack. 'I've got some ugly faults, and she'd rather see me without them: wouldn't you, Mother?'

'Have you faults?' asked Estelle, in such an incredulous tone that both her listeners laughed.

'He's getting the better of them by degrees,' answered Mrs. Wright, suddenly becoming grave, as if some thought troubled her.

They had now reached the end of the path, and, turning round by a group of pine-trees which grew at the foot of the hill, came out upon the sandy beach. Oh, what a sight for the enchanted eyes of the little girl who had been a close prisoner for so long!

The sun was shining in a sky flecked with soft, fleecy clouds. Before them was the rippling, dancing sea. Far in the hazy distance the grey smoke of a passing steamer could be seen, while white-winged boats or brown-sailed fishing smacks dotted the wide bay. Estelle's eyes were full of tears as she uttered exclamations of delight and surprise.

'How lovely! How lovely! Are we going to sit on the beach?'

'Better than that, Missie,' replied Jack, marching down the pebbly slope with long, easy strides. 'Don't you see the skiff down there on the sands? It's a trip in her you will have, where you will get fresh air, with nothing to tire you.'

'Dear Jack! How delicious! Are you not very happy, Goody?'

'I am if you are, dearie. But if you go and get excited, you will have to come back. It will never do to have you ill again.'

Declaring she was not excited, only happy, Estelle clung to Jack as to a tower of strength against any return. He laughed.

'Obey orders, little Missie,' he said; 'be happy, but keep quiet. There's no call to tire yourself.'

'Why, you silly Jack, you are carrying me! How can I get tired?'

The boat had been drawn up on the beach, and Jack now put Estelle into it, making her a comfortable nest among the cushions and rugs, and erecting the umbrella over her head. Then, assisting Mrs. Wright to a seat near her, he ran the boat into the water, springing in as it slid off. With a 'long, long pull and a strong, strong pull' he rowed them out of the shadow of the rocks into the open sea. There he ran up the sail, while Estelle lay quite still in an ecstasy of pleasure. It was one of those golden moments which are seldom forgotten in a lifetime, when mere living and breathing are a delight; when the tongue is silent, because the eyes and thoughts are full of the beauty of the light, and the colour of trees, sea, rocks, and sky! With anxiety Mrs. Wright watched her little charge, as, speechless with delight in the sunlight and sweet air, she lay drinking in health with every breath. But Mrs. Wright was no longer young, and believed in moderation in all things, especially first things. She insisted that the sail should be a short one. Jack, therefore, put back at the end of the allotted time, in spite of Estelle's imploring eyes. She gazed at him as he lowered the sail, and took up his oars, till he almost fancied there were tears in her eyes.

'I did so want to go on!' she sighed. 'It may rain another day, and it is so long since I have seen the sun.'

Mrs. Wright shook her head, however, as one who is deaf to appeal.

'No more to-day, dear,' she said. 'If it is fine to-morrow you shall go again—that is, if you are none the worse for what you have done to-day.'

Jack, who could not bear to see his 'little Missie' distressed, assured her it would be fine to-morrow, and probably for some time longer. April would soon be upon them, and the time for the singing of birds begin. That meant fine weather.

'He ought to know,' added Mrs. Wright; 'it is a sailor's business to understand the sky.'

The words appeared to rouse some train of thought. After gazing earnestly at Jack's smiling face, Estelle knitted her brows, as if puzzled, saying, with some hesitation, 'A sailor? Yes, I know a sailor—now, where did I see him? He had something about him. Oh, what was it? You must remember, Goody. Will you tell me?'

'I have known a good many sailors, dear, in my time, being the wife and mother of sailors; and this one,' putting an affectionate hand on Jack's knee, 'is the biggest of them all.'

But Estelle was not diverted from puzzling over where she had seen the sailor she wanted to remember, whose name and circumstances she was conscious had something especial about them.

'I can't recollect!' she exclaimed, putting her hand to her head. 'Somebody said something, and we were sorry—what could it have been?'

'Don't try to remember, dear. It does not matter. As likely as not it was only a story somebody told you,' urged Mrs. Wright, alarmed at the flush and distress this first effort to recall anything in the past had produced.

'Here we are!' cried Jack, cheerfully pulling round into the bay, and running the little boat as high as possible up the shelving beach.

The tide coming in fast had already covered the sands, and was roaring on the pebbles. Holding the painter of the boat in one hand, Jack sprang out with Estelle in his arms, and, after putting her down on the dry shingle, proceeded to haul the little craft sufficiently high out of the water to enable his mother to land.

'Sit still, Missie,' he called to Estelle, 'and I will carry you up in a jiffy.'

(Continued on page 214.)