'_You_ give it to him,' said one voice.
'No, Marjorie, I daren't; you take it.'
'You ought not to be afraid, because you're a boy,' said the first
speaker; 'father says boys ought always to be brave.'
'But you're big, Marjorie, and big people ought to be braver than little
people!'
There was a long, whispered conversation after this, and I could not
distinguish the words which were spoken. But presently a small piece of
pink paper was thrown over the wall, and fluttered down upon my palette.
I caught it up quickly, to prevent it from sticking to the paints, and I
saw there was something printed on it. It ran thus:--
_There will be a short service on the shore on Sunday Morning at
11 o'clock, when you are earnestly requested to be present_.
_Subject_: WHAT ARE YOU?
'Thank you,' I said aloud. 'Who sent me this?'
There was no answer at first, then a little voice just above me said,
'Both of us, sir.'
'Come down and talk to me,' I said; 'I can't talk to children whom I
can't see. Come out here and look at my picture.
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