"Put your pillow against the rock. See, there is a nice slanting place. Perhaps you will take a little nap. The sea is making a rather thunderous lullaby. Try it. I shan't mind; for here are my books and my writing-paper and pencils galore."
The boy sank down beside her in the place she indicated and looked at the materials in her lap. She had opened a leather case and showed a tablet of paper fitted at the side with a case for pencils.
"Do you ever write letters, Bertie?"
"I—no."
"When you and your uncle leave home, is there no one for you to write back to?"
"There's Cora."
"Your housekeeper?"
The boy nodded, his eyes still on the books and materials in his friend's lap. She, alert to meet any show of interest on his part, took up one of the books.
"Do you ever read the Bible, Bertie?"