her accumulated wisdom and enjoyed herself in the giving.

When she got beyond their depth at times, or outside their limits, she
would boldly carry her queries--and strange ones they were at times--to
old Mr. Cachemaille, the Vicar up in Sark, making nothing of the journey
and the Coupée in order to solve some, to her, important problem. And he
not only never refused her but delighted to open to her the stores of a
well-stocked mind and of the kindest and gentlest of hearts.

Often and often the people of Vauroque and Plaisance would see them
pass, hand in hand and full of talk, when the Vicar had wished to see
with his own eyes one or other of Nance's wonderful discoveries, in the
shape of cave or rock-pool, or deposit of sparkling crystal
fingers--amethyst and topaz--or what not.

For she was ever lighting on odd and beautiful bits of Nature's
craftsmanship. Books were hardly to be had in those days, and in place
of them she climbed fearlessly about the rough cliff-sides and tumbled
headlands, and looked close at Nature with eyes that missed nothing and
craved everything.

To the neighbours the headlands were places where rabbits were to be
shot for dinner, the lower rocks places where ormers and limpets and
vraie might be found. But to little Nance the rabbits were playfellows
whose sudden deaths she lamented and resented; the cliff-sides were
glorious gardens thick with sweet-scented yellow gorse and honeysuckle
and wild roses, carpeted with primroses and bluebells; and, in their
season, rich and juicy with blackberries beyond the possibilities of
picking.