es are tired, you can rest them on the
sea. And I will be _so_ quiet--as gentle as pussy, even, and do nothing but
make pens for you all the time. Wouldn't that be fine?"

"Yes! and father should go no more away in ships. He might have a yacht to
leap over the surge in, to sail around all those little islands and in the
green bays; but never go off to sea. The books I am going to write will
bring us money enough."

So the little castle-builders talked until the sun had melted into the
waves, and twilight, like a pilgrim that had been resting by the roadside,
rose up from the beach, and came slowly toward the old house.

Mortimer, who had been gazing dreamily at the beach--which grew fainter and
fainter, till it seemed like a white thread running through the selvage of
blue drapery--turned his eyes on Bell.

"Bell," said he, quietly, "as you sit there in the shadows, with your
beautiful hair folded over your forehead, you look like an angel!"

"Do I?"

"I can put my hand on your neck, yet you seem far away from me."

"Come, rest your head in my lap, Mort," said the girl, tenderly, "and I
will tell you of a real true angel who once came into this world."

The chestnut locks of the boy looked darker against her white dress, as
Bell bent over him, and commenced, in a low, silvery voice, an old angel
legend. She was in the midst of a strange description of Paradise, when a
tremulous voice came up the stairway--

"Come to tea, children!"

Then the two looked at each other curiously. It was so odd to be called to
tea, and they in Heaven! It was a long step from Paradise to the
supper-table; but the dream was shattered. Bell laughed. Then they closed
the window, and descended to the room below, where Nanny had prepared the
evening meal of snowy bread and milk, and ripe purple whortleberries. It
was very queer to see the three sitting at table--to see homely-looking,
but kind-hearted Nanny, between the two children, like a twilight between
two pleasant mornings.

When supper was over, and while Nanny was washing the tea-things, the
children went down to the beach, shell hunting. The white moon stood
directly over the sea, and the waves were full of silvery arrows, as if
Diana had scattered them from her quiver. Mortimer's eyes drank in the
sight, as they had a thousand times before, for Nature is ever new to her
lovers. In the measured roll of the sea, he heard the diapason of a grand
poem, and the far-off thunder, h