"Does you want a boat?"
Such a soft, clear little voice! Denys turned quickly and looked up, but her eyes had to come down again to the yellow sand on which she sat. There was no one near enough to have spoken to her but a mite of a boy in petticoats, with bare feet and yellow hair and brilliant blue eyes.
"Hullo!" said the little voice again, "does you want a boat?"
"No, thank you," she answered with a tender smile; she had heard no voice like this voice, since little Jerry died. It was as if Jerry himself had come back to her.
"Why doesn't you want one?" insisted the child.
"I have no one to row me," she said.
He looked down at his little brown hands and then up in her face. "When I'm a man I'll row you! I'm going to be a sailor like my dad was!"
"What is your name, dear?"
"Harry! Harry Lyon!"
He stood with his little brown legs apart, gazing at her.