The keel went with such a plump on the sand, that Nigel, who sat on a forward thwart with his back landward, reversed the natural order of things by putting his back on the bottom of the boat and his heels in the air.

To this day it is an unsettled question whether this was done on purpose by Kathy.  Certain it is that she did not tumble, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, while her large lustrous eyes half shut themselves up and twinkled.

“Why, you don’t even apologise, you dreadful creature!” exclaimed Nigel, joining in the laugh, as he picked himself up.

“Why should I ’pologise?” asked the girl, in the somewhat broken English acquired from her adopted family.  “Why you not look out?”

“Right, Kathy, right; I’ll keep a sharp lookout next time.  Meanwhile I will return good for evil by offering my hand to help you a—­hallo!”

While he spoke the girl had sprung past him like a grasshopper, and alighted on the sand like a butterfly.

A few minutes later and this little jesting fit had vanished, and they were both engaged with pencil and book, eagerly—­for both were enthusiastic—­sketching one of the most enchanting scenes that can well be imagined.  We will not attempt the impossible.  Description could not convey it.  We can only refer the reader’s imagination to the one old, hackneyed but expressive, word—­fairyland!

One peculiarly interesting point in the scene was, that on the opposite side of the lagoon the captain could be seen holding forth to his juvenile audience.

[Illustration:  ART ON THE KEELING ISLANDS.—­PAGE 36.]

When a pretty long time had elapsed in absolute silence, each sketcher being totally oblivious of the other, Nigel looked up with a long sigh, and said:—­

“Well, you have chosen a most exquisite scene for me.  The more I work at it, the more I find to admire.  May I look now at what you have done?”

“Oh yes, but I have done not much.  I am slow,” said the girl, as Nigel rose and looked over her shoulder.

“Why!—­what—­how beautiful!—­but—­but—­what do you mean?” exclaimed the youth.

“I don’t understand you,” said the girl, looking up in surprise.

“Why, Kathy, I had supposed you were drawing that magnificent landscape all this time, and—­and you’ve only been drawing a group of shells.  Splendidly done, I admit, but why——­”

He stopped at that moment, for her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Forgive me, dear child,” said Nigel, hurriedly; “I did not intend to hurt your feelings.  I was only surprised at your preference.”

“You have not hurt me,” returned Kathy in a low voice, as she resumed her work, “but what you say calls back to me—­my father was very fond of shells.”

She stopped, and Nigel, blaming himself for having inadvertently touched some tender chord, hastened, somewhat clumsily, to change the subject.