roblem. And he
not only never refused her but delighted to open to her the stores of a
well-stocked mind and of the kindest and gentlest of hearts.

Often and often the people of Vauroque and Plaisance would see them
pass, hand in hand and full of talk, when the Vicar had wished to see
with his own eyes one or other of Nance's wonderful discoveries, in the
shape of cave or rock-pool, or deposit of sparkling crystal
fingers--amethyst and topaz--or what not.

For she was ever lighting on odd and beautiful bits of Nature's
craftsmanship. Books were hardly to be had in those days, and in place
of them she climbed fearlessly about the rough cliff-sides and tumbled
headlands, and looked close at Nature with eyes that missed nothing and
craved everything.

To the neighbours the headlands were places where rabbits were to be
shot for dinner, the lower rocks places where ormers and limpets and
vraie might be found. But to little Nance the rabbits were playfellows
whose sudden deaths she lamented and resented; the cliff-sides were
glorious gardens thick with sweet-scented yellow gorse and honeysuckle
and wild roses, carpeted with primroses and bluebells; and, in their
season, rich and juicy with blackberries beyond the possibilities of
picking.

She was on closest visiting terms with innumerable broods of
newly-hatched birdlings--knew them, indeed, while they were still but
eggs--delighted in them when they were as yet but skin and
mouth--rejoiced in their featherings and flyings. Even baby cuckoos were
a joy to her, though, on their foster-mothers' accounts she resented the
thriftlessness of their parents, and grew tired each year of their
monotonous call which ceased not day or night. But of the larks never,
for their songs seemed to her of heaven, while the cuckoos were of
earth. The gulls, too, were somewhat difficult from the friendly point
of view, but she lay for hours overlooking their domestic arrangements
and envying the wonders of their matchless flight.

And down below the cliffs what marvels she discovered!--marvels which in
many cases the Vicar was fain to content himself with at second hand,
since closer acquaintance seemed to him to involve undoubted risk to
limb if not to life. Little Nance, indeed, hopped down the seamed cliffs
like a rock pipit, with never a thought of the dangers of the passage,
and he would stand and watch her with his heart in his mouth, and only
shake his grey head at her encouraging