"Well, mother dear, you can just wait till it comes. There is no shadow over me now, at any rate. If you were only well, I should be happy enough." "I shall never be well, my child." "O you say that just because a shadow has come over you. I wish I knew where it comes from; I would scare it away. Mother, mother, look, look!-- see that little carriage with the little horses, and the children driving! Oh--!" Rotha's expression of intense admiration is not to be given on paper. "Shetland ponies, those are," said her mother. "What are Shetland ponies?" "Ponies that come from Shetland." "And do they never grow any bigger?" "No." "How jolly!" "Rotha, that is a boy's word, I think." "If it is good for a boy, why isn't it good for me?" "I do not know that it is good for a boy. But a lady is bound to be more particular in what she says and does." "More than a gentleman?" "In some ways, yes." "I don't understand in what ways. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, whether one is a boy or a girl." Mrs. Carpenter sighed. What would bring just notions, who would teach proper ways, to her inquisitive child when she should be left motherless? Rotha perceived the deep concern which gathered in her mother's eyes again; and anew endeavoured by lively talk to chase it away. In vain. Mrs. Carpenter came home tired and exhausted. "I think she was worrying about something," Rotha said, when soon after she and her friend were on their way to Whitehall. "She does, now and then." Mr. Digby made no answer; and Rotha's next keen question was, "You look as if you knew what she was worrying about, Mr. Digby?" "I think I do." "Couldn't I know what it was?" "Perhaps. But you must wait." It was easy to wait. Even the omnibus ride to Whitehall was charming to Rotha's inexperienced eyes; and when she was on board the ferry boat and away from the quays and the city, and the lively waters of the bay were rolling up all around her, the girl's enjoyment grew intense. She had never seen such an extent of water before, she had no idea of the real look of the waves; a hundred thousand questions came crowding and surging up in her mind, like the broken billows down below her. In her mind; they got no further; merely to have them rise was a delight; she would find the answer to them some day. For the present it was enough to watch the changing forms and varying colours of the water, and to drink in the fresh breeze which brought life and strength with it from the sea. Yet now and then a question was too urgent and must be satisfied. "Mr. Digby, nobody could paint water, could they?" "Yes." "How could they? It is all changing, every instant; it won't stand still to be drawn." "Most things can be done, if one is only in earnest enough." "But how can this?"