hat for, he said, quite proudly, 'To kill the
Frenchmen with.' 'To kill Frenchmen with?' I said; for this young
fire-eater seemed to mean what he said. 'Yes, ma'am,' said he, 'for they
shoot the sheep out on the Flannan Islands when no one sees them; but we
will catch them some day.' I was afraid to ask him where the Flannan
Islands were, for I could see he was already regarding me as a very
ignorant person; so I had their toys tied up for them, and packed them
off home. 'And when you get home,' I said to them, 'you will give my
compliments to your mamma, and say that you got the ship and the sword
from a lady who has a great liking for the Highland people.' 'Yes,
ma'am,' says he, touching his cap again with a proud politeness; and
then they went their ways, and I saw them no more."

Then the Christmas-time came, with all its mystery, and friendly
observances, and associations; and she described to him how Carry and
she were engaged in decorating certain schools in which they were
interested, and how a young curate had paid her a great deal of
attention, until some one went and told him, as a cruel joke, that Miss
White was a celebrated dancer at a music-hall.

Then, on Christmas morning, behold, the very first snow of the year! She
got up early; she went out alone; the holiday world of London was not
yet awake.

"I never in my life saw anything more beautiful," she wrote to him,
"than Regent's Park this morning, in a pale fog, with just a sprinkling
of snow on the green of the grass, and one great yellow mansion shining
through the mist--the sunlight on it--like some magnificent distant
palace. And I said to myself, if I were a poet or a painter I would take
the common things, and show people the wonder and the beauty of them;
for I believe the sense of wonder is a sort of light that shines in the
soul of the artist; and the least bit of the 'denying spirit'--the
utterance of the word _connu_--snuffs it out at once. But then, dear
Keith, I caught myself asking what I had to do with all these dreams,
and these theories that papa would like to have talked about. What had I
to do with art? And then I grew miserable. Perhaps the loneliness of the
park, with only those robust, hurrying strangers crossing, blowing their
fingers, and pulling their cravats closer, had affected me; or perhaps
it was that I suddenly found how helpless I am by myself. I want a
sustaining hand, Keith; and that is now far away from me. I can do