though her voice grew hoarse and weak under the terrible strain.
Then Theo proceeded to free her own skirts from her feet, lest, being
entangled, she might be sucked down under, when the boat settled down,
as she knew, now, it undoubtedly must.

And overhead, flecking with white the blue glitter of the sky, the busy
gulls skimmed hither and thither, wheeling round in circles. On the
shore the fisher-wives, with bent heads, were still too intent on their
mending to raise their eyes for one moment, and the chatter of their
own high-pitched voices dulled their ears to the despairing cries
floating across the waters. So the tragedy went on.

It was cool and shady in the Vicarage old-fashioned drawing-room. Mrs.
Vesey, the invalid mistress, frail and sweet, was lying, as usual, on
her couch, her dim, patient eyes watching the bay for the boat bringing
over her expected guests from the Bunk.

In the next room tea was spread out: piles of sweet cakes and brown
bread-and-butter; strawberries gleamed ripe and red in large, heaped-up
dishes, and jugs of rich yellow cream stood about. Mrs. Vesey knew
what a feast should be like for hungry boys and girls, and ordered a
lavish repast to be prepared. Nor had she forgotten to provide for
other guests who were bidden to celebrate her birthday. Down in the
village schoolroom, tea and plum-cake, with piles of fruit, were all in
readiness to be laid out the moment that the little scholars departed
from afternoon school--a feast which they would return in due time to
demolish.

Mrs. Vesey was a great sufferer; she had been house-ridden for years of
her life, but she bore her cross of bodily ailments bravely and with
soldierly courage. It was never thrust forward as an excuse to shelter
its bearer from what she felt to be her duty. Although she was totally
unable to preside in person at the treat for the fisher-children, she
had arranged to be represented by Theo Carnegy, when the Vicarage tea
was over. That young lady, after helping the little ones to make merry
over their feast, was finally to marshal a procession up to the
Vicarage, where the children intended to present to Mrs. Vesey such
posies as their busy little fingers had managed to gather in the woods
behind the village.

As Mrs. Vesey lay watching the bay from her open windows, Binks, the
old handy-man, moved about on the lawn outside, now and again
exchanging remarks with his mistress as he passed and repassed.