to do so till the boat was out of
sight.

Chapter III

STRANGE MUSIC

I slept well in my strange little bedroom, although I was awakened early
by the sunlight streaming in at the window. I jumped up and looked out.
The sun was rising over the sea, and a flood of golden light was
streaming across it.

I dressed quickly and went out. Very few people were about, for the
fishermen had not yet returned from their night's fishing. The cliff
looked even more beautiful than the night before, for every bit of
colouring stood out clear and distinct in the sunshine. 'I shall get my
best effects in the morning,' I said to myself, 'and I had better choose
my subject at once, so that after breakfast I may be able to begin
without delay.'

How many steps I went up, and how many I went down, before I came to a
decision, it would be impossible to tell; but at last I found a place
which seemed to me to be the very gem of the whole village. An old
disused boat stood in the foreground, and over this a large fishing net,
covered with floats, was spread to dry. Behind rose the rocks, covered
with tufts of grass, patches of gorse, tall yellow mustard plants and
golden ragwort, and at the top of a steep flight of rock-hewn steps
stood a white cottage with red-tiled roof, the little garden in front of
it gay with hollyhocks and dahlias. A group of barefooted children were
standing by the gate feeding some chickens and ducks, a large dog was
lying asleep at the top of the steps, and a black cat was basking in the
morning sunshine on the low garden wall. It was, to my mind, an
extremely pretty scene, and it made me long to be busy with my brush.

I hurried back to my lodging, and found Polly preparing my breakfast,
whilst little John looked on. He was sitting in his nightgown, curled up
in his father's armchair. 'I'm daddy,' he called out to me as I came in.

There was a little round table laid ready for me, and covered with a
spotlessly clean cloth, and on it was a small black teapot, and a white
and gold cup and saucer, upon which I saw the golden announcement, 'A
present from Whitby,' whilst my plate was adorned with a remarkable
picture of Whitby Abbey in a thunderstorm.

There were herrings, of course, and Polly had made some hot cakes, the
like of which are never seen outside Yorkshire. These were ready
buttered, and were lying wrapped in a clean cloth in front of the fire.
Polly made the tea as soon as I entered, and then