those strange far-off seas it was our dream to navigate one day.
We had known Billy well, and appreciated him. When an
approaching visit of Billy to his sister had been announced,
we had counted the days to it. When his cheery voice was at last
heard in the kitchen and we had descended with shouts, first of
all he had to exhibit his tattooed arms, always a subject for
fresh delight and envy and awe; then he was called upon for
tricks, jugglings, and strange, fearful gymnastics; and lastly
came yarns, and more yarns, and yarns till bedtime. There had
never been any one like Billy in his own particular sphere; and
now he was drowned, they said, and Martha was miserable, and--and
I couldn't get a new bootlace. They told me that Billy would
never come back any more, and I stared out of the window at the
sun which came back, right enough, every day, and their news
conveyed nothing whatever to me. Martha's sorrow hit home a
little, but only because the actual sight and sound of it gave me
a dull, bad sort of pain low down inside--a pain not to be
actually located. Moreover, I was still wanting my bootlace.

This was a poor sort of a beginning to a day that, so far as
outside conditions went, had promised so well. I rigged up a
sort of jurymast of a bootlace with a bit of old string, and
wandered off to look up the girls, conscious of a jar and a
discordance in the scheme of things. The moment I entered the
schoolroom something in the air seemed to tell me that here, too,
matters were strained and awry. Selina was staring listlessly
out of the window, one foot curled round her leg. When I spoke
to her she jerked a shoulder testily, but did not condescend to
the civility of a reply. Charlotte, absolutely unoccupied,
sprawled in a chair, and there were signs of sniffles about her,