"What funny sand!" said Maggie again. "When it blows in Glebeshire it
blows and there's a perfect storm. There's a storm or there isn't.
Here--" She broke off. She could see that Paul hadn't the least idea of
what she was speaking.

"The sand is always blowing about here," he said. "Now what about tea?"

They walked back through the High Street and not a soul was to be seen.

"Does nobody live here?" asked Maggie.

"The population," said Paul quite gravely, "is eight thousand, four
hundred and fifty-four."

"Oh, I see," said Maggie.

They had tea in the dusty study again.

"I'm going to change this house," said Maggie.

"Change it?" asked Paul. "What's my little girl going to do?"

"She's going to destroy ever so many things," said Maggie.

"You'd better wait," said Paul, moving a little away, "until Grace
comes back, dear. You can consult with her."

Maggie said nothing.

Next day Mrs. Constantine, Miss Purves, and Mrs. Maxse came to tea.
They had tea in the drawing-room all amongst the squashed strawberries.
Three large ferns in crimson pots watched them as they ate. Maggie
thought: "Grace seems to have a passion for ferns." She had been
terribly nervous before the ladies' arrival--that old nervousness that
had made her tremble before Aunt Anne at St. Dreot's, before the
Warlocks, before old Martha. But with it came as always her sense of
independence and individuality.

"They can't eat me," she thought. It was obvious at once that they did
not want to do anything of the kind. They were full of kindness and
curiosity. Mrs. Constantine took the lead, and it was plain that she
had been doing this all her life. She was a large black and red woman
with clothes that fitted her like a uniform. Her hair was of a raven
gleaming blackness, her cheeks were red, her manner so assured and
commanding that she seemed to Maggie at once like a policeman directing
the traffic. The policeman of Christian Skeaton she was, and it did not
take Maggie two minutes to discover that Paul was afraid of her. She
had a deep bass voice and a hearty laugh.

"I can understand her," thought Maggie, "and I believe she'll
understand me."

Very different Miss Purves. If Mrs. Constantine was the policeman of
Skeaton, Miss Purves was the town-crier. She rang her bell and
announced the news, and also insisted that you should tell her without
delay any item of news that you had collected.

In appearance she was like any old maid whose