“Syrens,” came Winfried’s voice from the other end of the boat. And he looked up with a smile at the little girls’ start of surprise. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “my friends are neither mermaids nor syrens; you’re not going to be shipwrecked in this boat, I promise you.” Somehow the boy seemed to have gained a new kind of dignity now that the children were, so to say, his guests. Ruby said, “Thank you,” quite meekly and submissively for her.
Then they were all quite silent for a while, only the plash of Winfried’s oars broke the stillness. And somehow out there on the water it seemed to have grown warmer, at least the children felt conscious of neither cold nor heat, it was just perfectly pleasant. And the sun shone on mildly. There was a thorough feeling of “afternoon,” with its quiet and mystery and yet faint expectation, such as one seldom has except in summer.
“It is lovely,” said Mavis presently; “only I’m a little afraid I’m getting sleepy.”
“No, you needn’t be afraid,” said Winfried; and just as he said the words, Mavis started, as something flitted against her cheek.
“Ruby, Ruby!” she exclaimed, “did you see it? A butterfly—a blue butterfly—in November! Oh, where has it gone to?” and she gazed all round anxiously.
Chapter Five.
The Fisherman’s Hut.
”... There are things which through the gazing eye
Reach the full soul and thrill it into love.”
To my Child.