Gloria knew from experience that after such a tempestuous misunderstanding as they had had on the previous day, her uncle and aunt would have to be left alone to come to a reconciliation. She was also glad of such a good excuse to go out.
So, directly after breakfast, she went up to her bedroom, opened her glass-doored bookcase, and, after taking down and putting up volume after volume, she selected two which she thought would be most beneficial and acceptable to her new friend—these were the charming school books: Peter Parley’s First Book of Geography and Peter Parley’s First Book of History, then just coming into use, both profusely illustrated with maps and pictures.
She put on her little rough-and-ready gray sack and her felt hat—for it was still chilly on the seaside in early June—took the two books under her arm and left the house.
Singing as she tripped along, she hurried blithely down to the breach in the wall, where she found the fisher-boy busily engaged in smoothing that passage by laying the fallen stones a little leveller.
“Oh, good-morning, David Lindsay! Will you take me over in your row-boat to see your grandmother this morning?” she asked as she came up.
“Oh, yes, indeed I will, and glad to do it!” replied the lad, lifting his torn hat from his black curls and holding out his hand to help her across the broken wall.
She sat down on the boat to recover her breath, while he said:
“I stayed here last night until ten o’clock, working to finish my nets, and so get time to take you over to-day. And then I came at daybreak this morning, and have been here ever since, so I have earned a holiday.”
“Oh, how good of you to take so much trouble for me; but how could you see to do your work, after the sun went down?”
“The stars came out. It was one of the brightest starlight nights I ever saw! Besides, netting, you know, is such mere finger-work, that I could almost do it with my eyes shut. Are you ready to go?”