Chapter IV
WHAT ARE YOU?
On Saturday of that week the sun shone brightly, and I was up betimes, had an early breakfast, and set to work at my picture as soon as possible. I had not been painting long before I again heard voices above me, the same childish voices that I had heard before.
'You give it to him,' said one voice.
'No, Marjorie, I daren't; you take it.'
'You ought not to be afraid, because you're a boy,' said the first speaker; 'father says boys ought always to be brave.'
'But you're big, Marjorie, and big people ought to be braver than little people!'
There was a long, whispered conversation after this, and I could not distinguish the words which were spoken. But presently a small piece of pink paper was thrown over the wall, and fluttered down upon my palette. I caught it up quickly, to prevent it from sticking to the paints, and I saw there was something printed on it. It ran thus:—
There will be a short service on the shore on Sunday Morning at 11 o'clock, when you are earnestly requested to be present.
Subject: WHAT ARE YOU?