ointed out a boy of eleven
or twelve. "We'll just row out to harbour's mouth; there's a cove where
we can put the littlest ones to paddle. And after that I'll larn 'ee how
to strike out and use your legs, if you've a mind to. It'll do 'ee good
to kick a bit, I'll wage, after a dose of Mister Sam. Well, and how did
you like 'en?"

"I didn't like him at all." Hester almost broke down. "Please, Nuncey, be
good to me! It--it seems as everyone was banded against me to-day,
to think badly of me."

"Be good to 'ee? Why, to be sure I will! Sit 'ee down and unlace your
boots, while me and Tenny pulls. Care killed the cat--'cos why?
He wouldn't wash it off in salt water."

They rowed down past the quays and out beyond the ancient fort at the
harbour's mouth. On the opposite shore a reef of rock ran out, and on the
ridge stood a white wooden cross, "put up," so Nuncey informed her,
"because Pontius Pilate landed here one time." Beyond this ridge they
found a shingly beach secluded from the town, warmed by the full rays of
the westering sun. There they undressed, one and all, and for half an
hour were completely happy. To be sure, Hester's happiness contained a
fair admixture of fright when Nuncey took her hand and led her out till
the water rose more than waist-high about her.

"Now trust to me; lean forward, and see if you can't lift your feet off
the ground," said Nuncey, slipping a hand under her breast. Hester tried
her hardest to be brave, and although no swimming was accomplished that
day, the trial ended in peals of laughter. She splashed ashore at length,
gleeful, refreshed in body and mind, and resolved to make herself as good
a swimmer as Nuncey, who swam like a duck.

CHAPTER XII.

THE OPENING DAY.

It often happens, when a number of persons meet together for some purpose
in itself unselfish, that there prevails in the assembly a spirit of its
own, recognisably good, surprising even the pettiest with a sudden glow in
their hearts, and a sudden revelation that the world is a cheerfuller
place than in their daily lives they take it for. This cheerful
congregational spirit I take to flow from a far deeper source than the
emotion, for example, which a great preacher commands in his audience.
It may be--indeed, usually is--accompanied by very poor oratory.
The occasion may be trivial as you please; that it be unselfish will
suffice to unlock the goodness within men, who, if often worse than they