many yards before he heard the twitter of voices and smothered laughter
behind him. He turned; it was Cara and the child,--a girl of six or
seven. Cara's face was rosy,--possibly from her bath, and possibly
from some shame-faced consciousness. He slackened his pace, and as they
ranged beside him said, "Good-morning!"

"Lord!" said Cara, stifling another laugh, "we didn't know you were
around; we thought you were always 'tending your telegraph, didn't we,
Lucy?" (to the child, who was convulsed with mirth and sheepishness).
"Why, we've been taking a wash in the sea." She tried to gather up her
long hair, which had been left to stray over her shoulders and dry in
the sunlight, and even made a slight pretense of trying to conceal the
wet towels they were carrying.

Jarman did not laugh. "If you had told me," he said gravely, "I could
have kept watch for you with my glass while you were there. I could see
further than you."

"Tould you see US?" asked the little girl, with hopeful vivacity.

"No!" said Jarman, with masterly evasion. "There are little sandhills
between this and the beach."

"Then how tould other people see us?" persisted the child.

Jarman could see that the older girl was evidently embarrassed, and
changed the subject. "I sometimes go out," he said, "when I can see
there are no vessels in sight, and I take ray glass with me. I can
always get back in time to make signals. I thought, in fact," he said,
glancing at Cara's brightening face, "that I might get as far as