over, and it was cold. Peering through that round eye she
could see far off some rocks. Now they were scattered over with foam;
now a gull flipped by; and now there came a long piece of real land.

"It's land, grandma," said Fenella, wonderingly, as though they had been
at sea for weeks together. She hugged herself; she stood on one leg and
rubbed it with the toes of the other foot; she was trembling. Oh, it had
all been so sad lately. Was it going to change? But all her grandma
said was, "Make haste, child. I should leave your nice banana for
the stewardess as you haven't eaten it." And Fenella put on her black
clothes again and a button sprang off one of her gloves and rolled to
where she couldn't reach it. They went up on deck.

But if it had been cold in the cabin, on deck it was like ice. The sun
was not up yet, but the stars were dim, and the cold pale sky was the
same colour as the cold pale sea. On the land a white mist rose and
fell. Now they could see quite plainly dark bush. Even the shapes of the
umbrella ferns showed, and those strange silvery withered trees that are
like skeletons... Now they could see the landing-stage and some little
houses, pale too, clustered together, like shells on the lid of a box.
The other passengers tramped up and down, but more slowly than they had
the night before, and they looked gloomy.

And now the landing-stage came out to meet them. Slowly it swam towards
the Picton boat, and a man holding a coil of rope, and a cart with a
small drooping horse and another man sitting on the step, came too.

"It's Mr. Penreddy, Fenella, come for us," said grandma. She sounded
pleased. Her white waxen cheeks were blue with cold, her chin trembled,
and she had to keep wiping her eyes and her little pink nose.

"You've got my--"

"Yes, grandma." Fenella showed it to her.

The rope came flying through the air, and "smack" it fell on to the
deck. The gangway was lowered. Again Fenella followed her grandma on to
the wharf over to the little cart, and a moment later they were bowling
away. The hooves of the little horse drummed over the wooden piles, then
sank softly into the sandy road. Not a soul was to be seen; there was
not even a feather of smoke. The mist rose and fell and the sea still
sounded asleep as slowly it turned on the beach.

"I seen Mr. Crane yestiddy," said Mr. Penreddy. "He looked himself then.
Missus knocked him up a batch of scones last week."

And now the little hors