“Did ’ee, dearie? How beautiful it is! How lovely and soft, and large, and warm it is! How kind and thoughtful it was of ’ee to bring it to the old woman! But that is nothing new. ’Ee was always good, my dearie. Now, I’ll tell ’ee how much I needed just such a shawl. My old gray woolen one is worn quite thin and threadbare. So ’ee sees how much good ’ee has done me, dearie.” “Oh, Granny Lindsay, I feel so grateful to you for liking it so much. And look here—oh, I hope you will like these, too!” said the young girl, as she unrolled the other bundle and displayed a dress of shepherd’s cloth of a deep blue shade, and two woven underskirts of thick red flannel. “Oh, dearie! What can I say to ’ee now for all ’ee gracious gifts? What? The old woman is almost dumb-struck, dearie, but her heart is full,” said the dame, in a voice very low, and trembling with the emotion that filled her aged eyes with tears. “Do you like them? Will they make you more comfortable? Oh, I am so glad!” “And here is something I got for David Lindsay. It is only a dozen Scotch pocket-handkerchiefs; but I have worked his name in the corners with my hair. Will you give them to him from his old playmate?” “Yes, dearie, surely, if ’ee wishes it,” replied the dame, in a subdued and broken voice, for she could now refuse nothing to the affectionate girl who had remembered her, even in a foreign country, and brought home comforts for her age. “And now, dee-ar Granny Lindsay, I must leave you. My half hour is up.” “I wish ’ee could stay all day, dearie.” “So do I; I meant to stay, but—but my guardian came with me and spoiled all my plans.” “’Ee gardeen means ’ee well, dearie. ’Ee mustn’t rebel against his just authority.” “Good-by, dee-ar Granny Lindsay.” “Good-by, since ’ee must go. The good Lord keep ’ee, dearie.” And so Gloria left the cottage, and walked rapidly down to the boat, where she found her guardian and the young fisherman waiting for her. She entered and seated herself in the stern. David Lindsay took up the oars and rowed quickly to the boat-house, which they reached in a few minutes. Colonel de Crespigney handed his ward to the steps, and with a cool—“Thanks. Good-day,” to the young boatman, led her up the stairs and through to the other side of the wall. “I wish, uncle dear, that you would leave the key in the lock always. It makes the place feel like a prison to have the boat-house, which is the only gateway and passage through the sea-wall, locked up all the time.” “I will do anything you wish, my dear Gloria. You have only to make your will known and it shall be obeyed,” replied the colonel. “I thank you, dear uncle. And since you are so kind, will you give orders that in future, whenever David Lindsay comes to take me to see my dee-ar old friend on the islet, I may promptly be informed of his presence?” inquired Gloria, with a grave earnestness that was more like a gracious command than a request.