Tiny was somewhat disappointed as the days went on to find that her pupils, Tom and Dick, took less and less interest in learning the letters she marked in the sand, or pointed out on the paper. They teased her to know how to put the letters together and make them into words which they could understand. But, alas! labour as she would, Tiny could not get over this difficulty even for herself. She had a dim idea that G O D spelt God, but she could not be quite sure--not sure enough to tell Dick that it was so. It was enough, however, to quicken her own interest in what the lines of letters might be able to tell her if only she could solve the mystery of putting them into words, for doubtless they would clear up her anxiety as to whether God loved boys as well as girls. She did not spend her whole time poring over her picture. She gathered samphire, helped to sort the fish when it was brought in, or mend the much-despised net; but every day she spent some time diligently tracing out the letters she knew and spelling over G O D. She might have mastered the difficulty with very little trouble if the fisherman had been less obstinate in his quarrel with the farm people, for Harry Hayes and his sisters were often down on the sands, sometimes bringing their books with them, and Dick, who longed to join them in their play, tried to persuade Tiny to go and ask them to help her with the reading difficulty. "Dad won't say anything to you, even if he should see you talking; but he won't see, and I won't tell," urged Dick, one day, when the children from the farm were at play among the sandhills, and occasionally casting sidelong glances towards Dick and Tiny. But the little girl only shook her head. "I can't, Dick," she said; "God wouldn't like it; mother told me that long ago." "But how is He to know if you don't tell Him?" said the boy, in an impatient tone. "Don't you know that God can see us all the time; that He's taking care of us always?" said Tiny, slowly. "Oh, come! what'll you tell us next?" said Dick, looking over his shoulder with a gesture of fear. "He ain't here now, you know," he added. "Yes he is," said the little girl, confidently; "mother said God was a Spirit. I dunno what that is, but it's just as real as the wind. We can't see that you know, but it's real; and we can't see God, but He's close to us all the time." The boy crept closer to her while she was speaking. "What makes you talk like that?" he said, in a half-frightened tone. "What's a matter, Dick?" she asked, not understanding his fear. "Don't you like to think God is close to you, and all round you," she suddenly added, in surprise. Dick shook his head. "Nobody never thinks about God at Bermuda Point, so p'r'aps He don't come here," he said, at last, in a tone of relief. "Oh, I say, Tiny, look! Harry Hayes has got a book! Let's go and see what it's about!"