streaming across the bay, with
their brown sails set to catch the fitful breeze which she could see
making cat's-paws on the water far out, but could not feel, being
sheltered from it by the old stone pier. The sea was glassy smooth,
and lapped up the rocks, heaving regularly like the breast of a
tranquil sleeper. Beth gazed at it until she was seized with a great
yearning to lie back on its shining surface and be gently borne away
to some bright eternity, where Sammy would be, and all her other
friends. The longing became imperative. She rose from the rock she was
sitting on, she raised her arms, her eyes were fixed. Then it was as
if she had suddenly awakened. The impulse had passed, but she was all
shaken by it, and shivered as if she were cold.

Fortunately the fish were biting well that day. She caught two big
dabs, four whitings, a small plaice, and a fine fat sole. The sole was
a prize, indeed, and mamma and Aunt Victoria should have it for
dinner. As she walked home, carrying the fish on a string, she met
Sammy.

"Where did you get those fish?" he asked.

"Caught them," she answered laconically.

"What! all by yourself? No! I don't believe it."

"I did, all the same," she answered; "and now I'm going to cook
them--some of them at least."

"Yourself? Cook them yourself? No!" he cried in admiration. Cooking
was an accomplishment he honoured.

"If you'll come out after your tea, I'll leave the back-gate ajar, and
you can slip into the wood-house; and I'll bring you a whiting on
toast, all hot and brown."

With such an inducement, Sammy was in good time. Beth found him
sitting contentedly on a heap of sticks, waiting for the feast. She
had brought the whiting out with a cover over it, hot and brown, as
she had promised; and Sammy's mouth watered when he saw it.

"What a jolly girl you are, Beth!" he exclaimed.

But Beth was not so much gratified by the praise as she might have
been. The vision and the dream were upon her that evening, her nerves
were overwrought, and she was yearning for an outlet for ideas that
oppressed her. She stood leaning against the door-post, biting a twig;
restless, dissatisfied; but not knowing what she wanted.

When Sammy had finished the whiting, he remembered Beth, and asked
what she was thinking about.

"I'm not thinking exactly," she answered, frowning intently in the
effort to find expression for what she had in her consciousness.
"Things come into my mind, but I don'