It went to sand again at once.
Anthea crept down in her nightgown to give one last kiss to old Nurse, and one last look at the beautiful testimonial hanging, by its tapes, its glue now firmly set, in glazed glory on the wall of the kitchen.
“Good-night, bless your loving heart,” said old Nurse, “if only you don’t catch your deather-cold!”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SHIPWRECK ON THE TIN ISLANDS
“Blue and red,” said Jane softly, “make purple.”
“Not always they don’t,” said Cyril, “it has to be crimson lake and Prussian blue. If you mix Vermilion and Indigo you get the most loathsome slate colour.”
“Sepia’s the nastiest colour in the box, I think,” said Jane, sucking her brush.
They were all painting. Nurse in the flush of grateful emotion, excited by Robert’s border of poppies, had presented each of the four with a shilling paint-box, and had supplemented the gift with a pile of old copies of the Illustrated London News.
“Sepia,” said Cyril instructively, “is made out of beastly cuttlefish.”
“Purple’s made out of a fish, as well as out of red and blue,” said Robert. “Tyrian purple was, I know.”