her, or on the glimpses
of water between the houses. Just before she turned into the avenue that
led to the house, she stopped to admire the view. She was at the summit
of the hill now; below her lay the town; where she stood she could look
over the housetops to the shining water of the bay, with its rocky
island in the middle. Bessie always called it the bay, but in reality it
resembled a lake, it was so landlocked, so closed in by the opposite
shore, except in one part; but the smooth expanse of water, shining in
the sunlight, lacked the freedom and wild freshness of the open sea,
though Bessie would look intently to a distant part, where nothing, as
she knew, came between her and the Atlantic. "If we only went far
enough, we should reach America; that gives one the idea of freedom and
vastness," she thought.

Bessie held the idea that Cliffe-on-Sea was one of the prettiest places
in England, and it was certainly not devoid of picturesqueness.

The houses were mostly built of stone, hewn out of the quarry, and were
perched up in surprisingly unexpected places--some of them built against
the rock, their windows commanding extensive views of the surrounding
country. The quarry was near the Lamberts' house, and the Coombe Woods
stretched above it for miles. Bessie's favorite walk was the long road
that skirted the woods. On one side were the hanging woods, and on the
other the bay. Through the trees one could see the gleam of water, and
on summer evenings the Lambert girls would often sit on the rocks with
their work and books, preferring the peaceful stillness to the Parade
crowded with strangers listening to the band. When their mother or Tom
was with them, they would often linger until the stars came out or the
moon rose. How glorious the water looked then, bathed in silvery
radiance, like an enchanted lake! How dark and sombre the woods! What
strange shadows used to lurk among the trees! Hatty would creep to
Bessie's side, as they walked, especially if Tom indulged in one of his
ghost stories.

"What is the use of repeating all that rubbish, Tom?" Bessie would say,
in her sturdy fashion. "Do you think any one would hear us if we sung
one of our glees? That will be better than talking about headless bogies
to scare Hatty. I like singing by moonlight."

Well, they were just healthy, happy young people, who knew how to make
the most of small pleasures. "Every one could have air and sunshine and
good spirits," Bessie