she always found that there were still some things left undone,
and that those were the very things that, in granny's opinion, mattered
most.

As for reading, or play-time, Mona never found any for either now, and oh,
how often and how longingly her thoughts turned to the Quay, and to the
rocks, and the games that were going on there evening after evening!
Sometimes it almost seemed that she could hear the laughter and the calls,
the voice of the sea, the rattle of the oars in the rowlocks, the cries of
the gulls, and then she would feel as though she could not bear to be away
from them all another moment. That she must race back to them then and
there; never, never to leave them any more!

The loneliness, and the hard work, and the confinement to the house told
on her. She became thin, the colour died out of her cheeks, and the
gladness from her eyes, and all the life and joyousness seemed to go out
of her. She grew, and grew rapidly, but she stooped so much she did not
look as tall as she really was.

Granny Barnes, looking at her sweeping out the path one day, had her eyes
suddenly opened, and the revelation startled her. She did not say
anything to Mona, she just watched her carefully, but she did not again
blame her for laziness; and while she watched her, her thoughts travelled
backwards. A year ago Mona had been noisy, lively, careless, but
cheerful, always full of some new idea. She had been round and rosy too,
and full of mischief. Now she was listless, quiet, and apparently
interested in nothing.

"Have you got a headache, Mona?"

"No," said Mona indifferently, "I don't think so."

"Is your back aching?"

"It always is."

"Then why didn't you say so, child?"

"What's the good? The work has to be done."

"If you're bad you must leave it undone. You can't go making yourself
ill."

"I ain't ill, and I'd sooner do the work. There's nothing else to do."

"Can't you read sometimes? You used to be so fond of reading."

"If I read I forget to do things, and then----" She was going to say
"there's a row," but she stopped herself just in time. "I've read all my
books till I know them by heart nearly." Even while she spoke she was
getting out the ironing cloth, and spreading it on the table.
The irons were already hot on the stove.

Granny Barnes did not say any more, but sat for a long time gazing into
the fire, apparently deep in thought. Mona looking up presently,
attracted by the sile