and out she came as brilliant as a young paroquet. Then
Carrington took to sailing in her. Proud of his handy work, he sailed up
and down, over to the reef, and up the inlet, and even persuaded Melvyna
to go with him once, accompanied by the meek little Sister.

"Why shouldn't you both learn how to manage her?" he said in his
enthusiasm. "She's as easy to manage as a child--"

"And as easy to tip over," replied Melvyna, screwing up her lips tightly
and shaking her head. "You don't catch me out in her again, sure's as my
name's Sawyer."

For Melvyna always remained a Sawyer in her own mind, in spite of her
spouse's name; she could not, indeed, be anything else--_noblesse
oblige_. But the Sister, obedient as usual, bent her eyes in turn upon
the ropes, the mast, the sail, and the helm, while Carrington, waxing
eloquent over his favorite science, delivered a lecture upon their uses,
and made her experiment a little to see if she comprehended. He used the
simplest words for her benefit, words of one syllable, and unconsciously
elevated his voice somewhat, as though that would make her understand
better; her wits seemed to him always of the slowest. The Sister
followed his directions, and imitated his motions with painstaking
minuteness. She did very well until a large porpoise rolled up his dark,
glistening back close alongside, when, dropping the sail-rope with a
scream, she crouched down at Melvyna's feet and hid her face in her
veil. Carrington from that day could get no more passengers for his
paroquet boat. But he sailed up and down alone in his little craft, and,
when that amusement palled, he took the remainder of the scarlet and
green paint and adorned the shells of various sea-crabs and other
crawling things, so that the little Sister was met one afternoon by a
whole procession of unearthly creatures, strangely variegated,
proceeding gravely in single file down the beach from the pen where they
had been confined. Keith pointed out to her, however, the probability of
their being much admired in their own circles as long as the hues
lasted, and she was comforted.

They strolled down the beach now every afternoon, sometimes two,
sometimes three, sometimes four when Melvyna had no cooking to watch, no
bread to bake; for she rejected with scorn the omnipresent hot biscuit
of the South, and kept her household supplied with light loaves in spite
of the difficulties of yeast. Sister St. Luke had learned to endure the
c