in the esplanade.

But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the
little town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked
from the end of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and
saw in the distance the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a
group of boys playing football on the wide level, and somewhat
nearer, a slender girl of fourteen, dressed in black, with long
fair hair floating over her shoulders.

She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her
leisurely pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was
feeling quite happy and much interested in the tiny bright yellow
snail shells the beach was providing for entertainment. She had
been spared all that was possible of the depression and sorrow of
the past weeks. Daddy had been poorly for years and Edith could
not remember him as ever well and strong. His loss affected her
more because it grieved Estelle, the only mother she had known.

There had been a few sad confused days when nothing seemed real,
and strangers had been kind in a way that Estelle accepted with a
sort of resentful patience, plain even to Edith. But since then,
life had been rather cheerful, with a great deal of attention from
Nurse, and Estelle's time almost wholly given to her. It was
gratifying to share Sister's confidence and to help arrange the
rooms attractively for the possible delightful people who ought to
come to lodge with them.

That they might not be delightful, Sister would not admit for a
moment, so of course they would be. St. Aubin's itself was far