“Do you really now, missie?” said Miss Potts, evidently relieved and pleased. “And how are you, dearie? Are you better?”
“Oh yes, thank you,” said Priscilla—“ever so much! I think I shall be quite well soon, and then we are going to Porthcallis.”
“Dear, dear,” cried Miss Potts, “that will be nice. Nobody could help getting well down there in the sunshine and sea-breezes.”
“Do you like the sea?” asked Priscilla. “Did you ever stay by it when you were a little girl?”
“Indeed, I did,” said Miss Potts. “I was born by it, and grew up by it till I was turned twenty.”
“You were born by the sea!” cried Priscilla. “Oh, how lovely—and I never knew it!”
Miss Potts at once became more interesting than ever. Priscilla tried to picture her digging in the sands and wading through the pools.
“But how could you bear to come away?” she cried. “I am sure I should never leave the sea if I could help it!”
“Ah, my dear, it all depends!” said Miss Potts, with a sad shake of the head. “I haven’t set eyes on the sea since I left it, and I—I hope I never do again. I couldn’t bear it, even now.”
“Oh, how sad!” said Priscilla, looking at her with wide eyes full of sympathetic interest. “Did your little brothers and sisters live there too?” she asked gently.