t the very first thing she would do when the Captain
came home would be to ask him for a pair of gold earrings.

So occupied was she with her thoughts that she reached the gate to the
hospital before she realized it. She lifted the heavy knocker; an old
man opened the door.

"This is not visiting day, little one," he said, as he looked down at
Lucia.

"Oh, I am not visiting," she replied, "I brought these few flowers for
the sick soldiers; will you take them?"

"Indeed I will." The old man held out his hand. "Do you want the
basket back again?"

"Oh, no, there's no hurry for that, I will get it the next time I
come," Lucia replied. "I mean to bring flowers every day or two for
the soldiers."

"That is very kind of you," the old man smiled, "I'll take these right
up."

Lucia nodded and turned to go back along the road. The sun was setting
over the water, and below the bay beckoned invitingly. She looked and
decided to go home that way.

She took a path that led to the water's edge. It was steep, for that
part of the coast rose high above the water. She was tired when she
reached the bottom and sat down to rest on the low stone wall.

The soft lapping of the water made her drowsy, and she slipped to the
sand, leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

There was not a sound but the soothing voice of nature, the ripple of
the water, the sighing of the wind and the occasional cry of a sea bird.

All the sounds together seemed to rock Lucia in a sort of lullaby, and
it was not many minutes before she was asleep.

When she awoke it was quite dark and she was conscious of a difference
in the voice of the water. A heavy regular splash, splash, grew nearer
and nearer as she listened. If she had been accustomed to living near
the water she would have recognized it as the rhythmic stroke of oars,
but she did not, and it was not until a shape loomed up in the dusk a
little farther down the beach that she realized it was a boat.

She got up and walked towards it. If it was a fisherman's boat she
wanted to see it, even if it meant being late to supper.

But it was not a fisherman's boat, it was a light, high-sided row boat
and the man in it stood up and pushed forward on his stout oars.

He made a landing on the sand before Lucia reached him, and he jumped
out hurriedly.

Whatever his business was it occupied all his thoughts, for he did not
look to right or left but ran straight to the wall.