often flopped flat, and made an exhibition of myself.
I don't think I was a nice child at all!"

"I call you a saint now! I wonder what most saints were like when they
were young."

"Many of them began as sinners. I expect even St. Francis of Assisi
howled when he was a baby, and smacked his nurse. We all feel more or
less scratchy sometimes. What you want, child, is a good blow on the
hills. If it should be as fine and mild to-morrow as it was this
morning, we'll have our painting lesson out of doors. Bring your thick
coat and a wrap and we'll go right up towards Tangy Point, take our
lunch and our sketch-books with us, find a sheltered place in the sun,
and paint some pretty little bit on the cliffs. You'll go back to school
on Monday feeling at peace with all mankind, or rather girlkind. Do you
like my prescription?"

"Rather! You're the best doctor out! It'll be glorious to get away from
everybody for a day. I have too much of Monica on Saturdays as a rule.
I've an instinct it's going to be fine to-morrow!"

Porthkeverne had its share of sea-fog in winter, but it also had its
quota of sunshine, and this particular February day turned out a
foretaste of spring. Birds were singing everywhere as teacher and pupil,
with lunch and sketching materials in their satchels, set off on their
tramp over the moors. They crossed the common, where Lorraine had stood
among the thistles for "Kilmeny", and came to "the little grey church on
the windy hill", which Mr. Castleton had chosen as the scene for his
illustrations to "The Forsaken Merman". The sound of the organ came
through the open door, and, peeping in, Lorraine could see Morland's
golden hair gleaming like a saint's halo in the chancel, and caught a
glimpse of Landry's perfect profile as he sat listening in the dusty
gallery.

"Shall we go and speak to them?" asked Margaret Lindsay.

"No," said Lorraine emphatically. "I'm not friends with Morland to-day.
He promised to practise an accompaniment with me last night, and he
never turned up. I shall just leave him to himself. He's a bad boy!"

"He has his limitations!" agreed Margaret.

The breath of early spring was in the air as they walked through the
cluster of houses termed by courtesy "the village", and, climbing a
stile, took the path along the cliffs. On such days the sap seems to
rise in human beings as well as in the vegetable world. Lorraine
literally danced along. Margaret Lindsay's artist eyes were busy