It was a pretty
sight, the grey, quiet water, the strips of yellow sand, and the cliff
covered with grass and flowers.
But I could not enjoy the scene that Saturday evening; even my artistic
eye, of which I used sometimes to boast, failed me then. I was feeling
thoroughly uncomfortable, and the most lovely view on earth would have
failed to charm me at that moment.
There is a verse in the Bible which says, 'A little child shall lead
them,' and whenever I hear that verse I think of that evening in
Runswick Bay. For I was still gazing out of my window, looking at I knew
not what, when I heard a well-known little voice just beneath me.
It was Jack. He had come down the hill beneath Duncan's cottage, so that
I had not seen him until he spoke to me below the window.
'Mr. Jack,' he said, 'what are you doing up there? Are you _very_
busy?'
'No, old man,' I said, 'I'm not busy.'
'Then _do_ come out, that's a dear, big Mr. Jack; I do want you so
much.'
Who could resist the pleading little face, and the pretty, fascinating
voice of that child? He would have a hard heart who could do so.
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