and some fishermen and their families living half-way between the little
town and a fishing village called Portscale, some way along the coast.
At Portscale there was a beautiful old church, and a vicar younger and
much more active than Dr. Bunton. Mr. Vane and he had made friends at
once, and to-day they had arranged to visit some of these outlying
neighbours together, for even though Mr. Vane was not at all strong and
had come to Seacove for a rest, he was far too good and energetic not to
do all he possibly could.

Biddy felt very cross when she remembered that her father was out. She
strolled to the window; it was still bright and sunny--a sudden thought
struck her. She hurried upstairs to the room where her hat and jacket
were lying as she had just taken them off--her boots were still on her
feet, and in less time than it takes me to tell, for Biddy _could_ be
quick if she chose, a sturdy little figure might have been seen trotting
down the sandy path which led to the shore.

'If they leave me alone I'm forced to amuse myself and do things
alone,' she said to herself, as a sort of excuse to her own conscience,
which _was_ trying, poor thing, to make itself heard, reminding her too
that there were plenty of things she could have done comfortably at home
in the nursery, where Jane Dodson was not bad company when allowed to
talk in her own slow way. There were to-morrow's lessons in the first
place--pleasant, easy lessons to do alone, and not too much of them; and
there was the kettle-holder she was making for grandmamma's birthday!
But no, Biddy refused to listen. She was determined to carry out the
wild scheme she had got in her head--'It _will_ be nice to put Celestina
down,' she said to herself.

A very few minutes' quick walking, or running rather, for Biddy could