'No, Marjorie, I daren't; you take it.'

'You ought not to be afraid, because you're a boy,' said the first
speaker; 'father says boys ought always to be brave.'

'But you're big, Marjorie, and big people ought to be braver than little
people!'

There was a long, whispered conversation after this, and I could not
distinguish the words which were spoken. But presently a small piece of
pink paper was thrown over the wall, and fluttered down upon my palette.
I caught it up quickly, to prevent it from sticking to the paints, and I
saw there was something printed on it. It ran thus:--

_There will be a short service on the shore on Sunday Morning at
11 o'clock, when you are earnestly requested to be present_.

_Subject_: WHAT ARE YOU?


'Thank you,' I said aloud. 'Who sent me this?'

There was no answer at first, then a little voice just above me said,
'Both of us, sir.'

'Come down and talk to me,' I said; 'I can't talk to children whom I
can't see. Come out here and look at my picture.'

They came out presently hand in hand, a little girl of five in a blue
tam-o'-shanter cap, a pale pink frock, and a white pinafore, and a boy