It was a lovely July afternoon, and at five o'clock Missy had taken her work and a book down to the beach-gate, and sat there rather idly reading, while the tide, which was only a few feet away from her, was breaking on the pebbles with a sound that is dead against serious mental application. There was a drowsy hum of insects in the air, a faint whispering in the trees overhead. She took off the light hat that shaded her face, and threw it on the grass, and leaning back in the high-backed cane chair, thought what a comfort not to be in a hurry about anything. She was delicately and coolly dressed, just fresh from a bath and a sleep. Life seemed luxurious at that moment. She watched a sail-boat, almost as idle as she was herself, lolling across the bay, the faint west wind coming in light puffs that gave it but little impetus. Presently the plash of oars aroused her, and turning her head she saw St. John pulling up to the beach. "Ah, that's nice!" she cried. "You've come to tea." "Well, yes, but it is not tea time yet." "Not for an hour and a half. This is very self-indulgent, coming home to tea twice in one week. I am afraid Bridget hasn't got the receipt for muffins quite through her head yet." "Yes, Bridget does very well. I wish every one did as well as Bridget. Myself, for instance." "Oh, nonsense; now you're moping again." "No, I am not. Nothing as excusable as that. But I'm lazy. How can any one keep from getting that in this place, I should like to know?" "I don't know why this place must bear the blame of all one's moods," said Missy, much annoyed. "_I_ don't get lazy here." "But you see I do." "Maybe you'd do that anywhere." "I'll put myself where I sha'n't have any more chance to be lazy than a car horse; where it won't be a question of whether I want to go or not. I gave you fair warning, Missy; I told you this wasn't the life for me." "Well, if you want to make me perfectly wretched--" said Missy, throwing down her book. St. John had come up from the beach, and had thrown himself on the grass, with his hands clasped under his head, his hat lying beside him. "I won't talk of it if it makes you wretched. Only you mustn't be surprised when I decide upon anything you don't like." "I'd rather be surprised once than worried out of my life all the time." "Very well, it's agreed." And St. John was silent, which Missy did not mean him to be. She wanted to argue with him about his restlessness. "Such a good work as you are doing," she said. "Think what every one says about you." "I don't want to think about it, if you please." "Think of all those Rogers children being baptised, and of old Hillyard coming into the church. I should as soon have thought of Ship Point Rock melting as his hard heart. Nobody ever heard of anything more wonderful. And the repairs of the church; how the people are giving. Think what it will be to see a recess chancel, and stalls, and a real altar."