ur later I was in the yard,
when up came this fellow Pearse.

"Glad to know you," he said, looking thoughtfully at the pigs.

"You're a writer, aren't you?"

"A sort of one," I said.

"If by any chance," he said suddenly, "you're looking for a job, I could
put something in your way. Walk down to the beach with me, and I'll tell
you; my boat's at anchor, smartest little craft in these parts."

It was very hot, and I had no desire whatever to go down to the beach--I
went, all the same. We had not gone far when John Ford and Dan Treffry
came into the lane. Our friend seemed a little disconcerted, but soon
recovered himself. We met in the middle of the lane, where there was
hardly room to pass. John Ford, who looked very haughty, put on his
pince-nez and stared at Pearse.

"Good-day!" said Pearse; "fine weather! I've been up to ask Pasiance to
come for a sail. Wednesday we thought, weather permitting; this
gentleman's coming. Perhaps you'll come too, Mr. Treffry. You've never
seen my place. I'll give you lunch, and show you my father. He's worth a
couple of hours' sail any day." It was said in such an odd way that one
couldn't resent his impudence. John Ford was seized with a fit of
wheezing, and seemed on the eve of an explosion; he glanced at me, and
checked himself.

"You're very good," he said icily; "my granddaughter has other things to
do. You, gentlemen, will please yourselves"; and, with a very slight
bow, he went stumping on to the house. Dan looked at me, and I looked at
him.

"You'll come?" said Pearse, rather wistfully. Dan stammered: "Thank you,
Mr. Pearse; I'm a better man on a horse than in a boat, but--thank you."
Cornered in this way, he's a shy, soft-hearted being. Pearse smiled his
thanks. "Wednesday, then, at ten o'clock; you shan't regret it."

"Pertinacious beggar!" I heard Dan mutter in his beard; and found myself
marching down the lane again by Pearse's side. I asked him what he was
good enough to mean by saying I was coming, without having asked me. He
answered, unabashed:

"You see, I'm not friends with the old man; but I knew he'd not be
impolite to you, so I took the liberty."

He has certainly a knack of turning one's anger to curiosity. We were
down in the combe now; the tide was running out, and the sand all little,
wet, shining ridges. About a quarter of a mile out lay a cutter, with
her tan sail half down, swinging to the swell. The sunlight was making
the