She was giving the poor old manor house a fit of the severest hydrophobic convulsions, which she called a spring cleaning, turning every trunk, box, wardrobe, closet and store-room inside out, and raising dust that had rested undisturbed for ages, when, thinking that she needed more help, she determined to walk down to the landing, where, she was told, the fisher-boy was at work, and to send him to fetch his grandmother to her assistance. When she reached the old sea-wall and stood in the breach, this is what she saw before her: A little fire kindled on the sands, and some fresh fish laid on the coals to broil; a little napkin spread on a flat stone, with two Little blue-edged plates and green-handled knives and forks, a bunch of radishes, a bunch of onions, and two rolls of wheat bread, and lastly, the two children sitting, side by side, in the old boat, reading from the same book. Miss Agrippina raised up both her hands in speechless amazement. Then controlling herself, she forbore all reproaches to the little, unconscious offender, and only saying: “Gloria, my love, your uncle wants you. Go right home,” came calmly down to the scene. Quite innocent of any impropriety, the little girl rose obediently, and saying: “I am sorry, David Lindsay, that I cannot stay and take dinner with you to-day; but poor uncle, you know! I must go to him directly; you must take the book along with you and read it at home to-night,” she ran lightly along, tripped over the broken wall, and home. Miss Agrippina turned to dispatch the boy on his errand after his grandmother. David promptly left his culinary preparations, unmoored his boat, and rowed rapidly for the isle. And so the children’s little, innocent _al fresco_ feast was spoiled; but that was nothing to what happened afterwards. CHAPTER VII CHANGES All she did was but to wear out the day; Full oftentimes she leave of him did take; And oft again devised somewhat to say, Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make; So loth was she his company to forsake. SPENSER. Miss Agrippina de Crespigney stood in the breach of the old stone sea-wall, watching David Lindsay as he rowed rapidly from the shore. “This intimacy must be stopped at once,” she said; “that poor, neglected child must be looked after and not allowed to associate with every rude boor that she may happen to meet on this dreary promontory! She must be sent to school. I will speak to Colonel de Crespigney on the subject at once.” So muttering, Miss Grip turned, clambered down from her standpoint and walked rapidly towards the house. When she got there she found little Glo’ standing between her uncle’s knees, as he reclined in his chip-bottomed arm-chair in the front porch.