Ellenor, you must have overslept yourself!" cried
Jean Cartier one morning in August, as he woke his daughter with a
loud knocking on the partition between the attic bedrooms of the
cottage.

"It's all right, father," the girl called in reply, "I've been up
there's a long time, but I am putting the roses round my hat. The
breakfast will be ready as soon as you're down."

Jean dressed in particularly old clothes, and Mrs. Cartier chose out
the shabbiest skirt she possessed, for they were preparing for a day
of hard work on the beach. But, to their surprise, when they came
down to breakfast, Ellenor wore a pretty gown of dark red stuff. She
explained, carelessly, that indeed _she_ would not make herself a
fright before all the countryside; and if the gown was spoilt, well,
it couldn't be helped. Her parents said nothing, for Ellenor's
temper was more uncertain than ever, and they dreaded an outbreak;
but Mrs. Cartier had her suspicions.

After breakfast the three started for Rocquaine Bay, where a lively
scene was being played, for it was the time of _vraicing_ or
sea-weed harvest. Lines of carts were ranged above high-water mark,
and the patient horses were decked with flowers. The beach and sands
swarmed with people all smiling and gay, and for the most part
wearing nosegays. Rich and poor from two parishes chatted, laughed
and worked hard with sickles at cutting the _vraic scie_ from the
low rocks. Very soon, the beach was dotted with heaps of sea-weed,
each marked by a pebble, bearing the owner's name in chalk. The more
adventurous waded across the _cols_ or causeways to rocks at some
distance from the shore and found rich stores of golden weed.
Amongst these adventurous spirits was Ellenor. She had persuaded one
of the farmers to take her on his horse to a high group of rocks,
hidden from the beach by Rocquaine Tower, and here she worked
undisturbed, and in full possession of a wonderful growth of
_vraic_.

She took off her hat, and her hair curled about her forehead in damp
little rings, for the sun was scorching. A dusky red glowed in her
tan cheeks; her eyes, shining with excitement and the joy of work,
followed the skilled movements of the sickle she swung to and fro,
and she was entirely absorbed in gathering in the precious _vraic_.
But, all at once, she paused. She heard, distinctly, the splash of
horse's feet. Someone was coming to interrupt her and share her
harvest. She would not have it! She had fir