“Well, yes, I suppose we had. You can read the books every night, can’t you, David Lindsay?” “Yes, indeed. And when you are up at the house enjoying yourself with all your friends, you may think of me reading your books.” “Oh! they are your books, David Lindsay,” she hastened to exclaim. “I daren’t take them from you only as a loan; but, oh! I can never thank you enough for that. Come carefully over all this rubbish. Let me take your hand. There, now, step into the boat and sit down while I untie her. Don’t be afraid. She will not turn over.” The child suffered him to put her into the rough little old shell that lay rocking on the sea. He quickly unmoored the boat, got into it, seated himself, and rowed towards the little sandhill that seemed a mere mote on the water. David rowed vigorously, and the little skiff shot over the sea, and rapidly approached the island. First she saw the sandy little hillock; next, that there was a tiny house on it, with trees on the farther side; then, as the boat reached the shore and grounded, she saw that the house was a small cottage with a gable roof and one chimney; with one door and window on the ground floor, and one tiny, square window above in the gable. There were no shutters to the windows, but they were shaded from within by flowered wall-paper blinds. The little house was whitewashed with lime, and the door was painted with red ochre, a coarse coloring matter got from the soil on the main. A little garden around the house, with a “made soil,” was fenced in with a whitewashed picket fence. Lilies, Canterbury-bells, hollyhocks, pinks, larkspurs, and other sweet, old-fashioned flowers grew in the front yard. A red rose-bush and a white rose-bush were trained, one on each side of the door. A white dog, of a nondescript race, was asleep on the step, and a black kitten was curled up snugly on his back. These proverbial “natural enemies” had never been anything but loving friends. At the approach of David the dog sprang up, wide awake, overturning the kitten, who put up her back, gaped, and stretched herself, while Jack ran forward and leaped upon his master, who did not order him “down, sir!” but patted his head and returned caress for caress. The red door opened then, and a smiling old woman appeared—Mrs. Lindsay, David’s grandmother. She was a small, plump, fair-faced, blue-eyed dame, with the white hair of sixty years parted plainly over her forehead, and banded back under a clean linen cap. She wore a striped blue and white cotton gown, of her own spinning and weaving, and a white handkerchief folded over her bosom, and a white apron tied before her gown. She came forward, smiling pleasantly as she held out her hand to the child, while she spoke to David. “Is this the little lady you have brought to visit me? I am very pleased to see thee, my dear.”