“Now give me the book, David Lindsay, and sit down and go on with your netting. Now, how far had you got?” she inquired, when they were seated opposite each other in the old stranded boat. “Up to ‘What is a cape?’” “Oh, yes, I can find the place. Now pay attention, David Lindsay,” she said, as she took up the book, opened it, assumed a grave, school-ma’am air, and asked: “‘What is a cape?’” “‘A cape is a point of land pretending into the sea,’” answered the pupil. “‘Ex-tending into the sea,’ David Lindsay,” corrected the little teacher. “‘EX-tending into the sea,’” emphatically amended the pupil. “That is right. Now, then, ‘What is a promontory?’” “‘A promontory is a high point of land pre——’” “No!” “EX——” “Yes.” “EX-tending into the sea!” “That is right, David Lindsay. You will soon learn geography.” She went on with the lesson, slowly drilling it into the head of the boy, who, with his divided attention, was a fair illustration of “the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.” But before his little teacher left him that day, he had managed to master the principal divisions of land and water, and better than all, he had been inspired with the love and desire of knowledge. This was the little lady’s mission to the fisher lad, who, a few years later, in the desperation of her unparalleled extremity, she was to ask to be her husband. CHAPTER IV LITTLE GLO’S JOY AND WOE She grew a flower of mind and eye. WORDSWORTH. We have lingered a little over these first days of their childish friendship, because they were types of so many days that followed, all through the budding spring, the blooming summer, and the fruitful autumn. The little girl was allowed to do very much as she pleased by her studious uncle and invalid aunt, as it was scarcely possible that she would “run into any danger, or fall into any sin,” on so isolated a place as the promontory, where there was neither evil companions or wild beasts to deprave or destroy her. On the main she might have been more closely looked after; but here she was so safe that not a thought was given to her safety. So, every day, when it did not rain, little Gloria went down to the landing to see her playmate and read to him while he mended old nets and seines, or made new ones. At first she was only “playing school,” but later on she understood her work and grew interested in the progress of her pupil; and thus her play rose into “a labor of love.” Together they went through the First Book in Geography, and the First Book in History, and the Primary Grammar. And in this way the child not only advanced her pupil playmate, but refreshed her own memory in those studies, which had been too much neglected since her arrival at the promontory.