Hester decided to walk as far as the Passage Slip, on the chance of meeting her. Somewhat to her surprise, as she passed Broad Quay she almost ran into Master Calvin Rosewarne, idling there with his hands in his pockets, and apparently at a loose end. "Calvin! Why, whatever are you doing here, on this side of the water?" The boy--he had not the manners to take off his cap--eyed her for a moment with an air half suspicious and half defiant. "That's telling," he answered darkly, and added, after a pause, "Were you looking for anyone?" "I was hoping to meet Nuncey Benny. She has gone across to her father's new office--or so Mrs. Benny thinks." The boy grinned. "She won't be coming this way just yet, and she's not at the new office. But I'll tell you where to find her, if you'll let me come along with you." On their way to the ferry he looked up once or twice askance at her, as if half-minded to speak; but it was not until old Daddo had landed them on the farther shore that he seemed to find his tongue. "Look here," he said abruptly, halting in the roadway, and regarding her from under lowering brows; "the last time you took me in lessons you told me to think less of myself and more of other people. Didn't you, now?" "Well?" said Hester, preoccupied, dimly remembering that talk. "Well, you seemed to forget your own teaching pretty easily when you walked out of Hall and left me there on the stream. Nice company you left me to, didn't you?" "Your father,"--began Hester lamely. "We won't talk of Dad. He's altered--I don't know how. I can't get on with him, though he's the only person hereabouts that don't hate me; I'll give him _that_ credit. But I ask you, wasn't it pretty rough on a chap to haul him over the coals for selfishness, and then march out and leave him without another thought? And that's what you did." "I am sorry." Hester's conscience accused her, and she was contrite. The child must have found life desperately dull. "I forgive you," said Master Calvin, magnanimously, and resumed his walk. "I forgive you on condition you'll do a small job for me. When Myra turns up again--and sooner or later she'll turn up--I want you to give her a message." "Very well; but why not give it yourself?" "She don't speak to me, you know," he answered, stooping to pick up a stone and bowl it down the hill. It scattered a trio of ducks, gathered a few yards below and cluttering with their bills in the village stream, and he laughed as they waddled off in panic. "That's how I'm left to amuse myself," he said after a moment apologetically, but again half defiantly. "You've to tell Myra," he went on, picking up another stone, eyeing for an aim, and dropping it, "that I like her pluck, but she needn't have been in such a hurry to teach the head of the family. Will you remember that?" "I will, although I don't know what you mean by it." "Never you mind, but take her that message; Myra will understand."