_Whiff--whiff--whiff_ went the clean white wings--it was underneath they were so radiantly white, and ever and anon turned the bird's graceful head to gaze red-eyed at Antony. Next moment the biscuit was whisked from the child's lips, and the bird was sailing for the rocks. 'You have been very good to sit so still, Mr Blake. The birds will know you now. I may take you out some time again. Sometimes I hoist a mainsail, but not a gaff. You know what the gaff is, don't you, Mr Blake?' 'Oh, yes, a hook-thing you land salmon with when you'---- Lotty was laughing merrily. 'I see you've never been much to sea,' she said. 'If I shipped the rudder and hoisted sail I suppose you couldn't manage the tiller and the sheet of the main as well. You know in a little bit of a skiff like this it wouldn't do to make fast the sheet, else if an extra puff came, then, before you could ease off over she would go.' 'Precisely, Lotty, precisely.' He didn't know what else to say. Lotty was silent for a moment. 'You know so little about boats, Mr Blake,' she said demurely; 'but I know what I can do with you if I take you for a sail.' 'Yes?' 'I should make you lie down fore and aft right along the keelson, on your back, head to the bows so as I could see you. But quite still you know.' 'Certainly, quite still. I understand that.' 'Then I would have you for company, and you would do for ballast as well.' 'Quite a charming arrangement, Lotty. But I wouldn't see much, would I?' 'You would see me managing the sail and holding the tiller as I tacked or took her about.' 'But tell me this, Lotty. Aren't you afraid of catching cold without shoes or stockings?' 'Oh no. Besides, you see, shoes and stockings are properties, and I mustn't spoil properties with salt-water and fishy slime.' 'No, that would never do, dear.' 'You're not making fun of me, are you?' 'I shouldn't dream of such a thing.' 'Very well. Now you may sing. "Row, brothers, row" will do.' Luckily, Antony knew this beautiful hymn-like song, and he had a splendid soprano voice. Lotty joined him, and there were tears in her eyes. She lay on the oars again to wipe them. 'I think I must have caught a cold,' said this queer little gipsy girl. 'I say, Mr Blake, have you ever been a freak?' 'A freak? Well, not at a show. My father called me a freak once, I think.' 'I'm a freak now, Mr Blake, and have been for many, many long years. Heigh-ho!' 'Where does the freak come in, child?' 'Oh, I am a violinist, you know. Father says I used to sit up and play in my bassinette. Then I'm a freak telling fortunes; but father takes the money.' 'No doubt.' 'Have you ever been an infant prodigy?' 'No, only an infant prodigal.'