It was pleasant walking along the firm, hard road, and the fresh air was exhilarating—­the sunshine, thin and wintry though it was, gilded palely the little shallow lakes and pools left by the outgoing tide along the shore, for it was almost low water now.  Even the bare stretches of sand did not look ugly, as they sometimes do—­a touch of sunshine makes all the difference!  And the even stony path—­a sort of natural breakwater running out towards the lighthouse—­here and there caught a gleam or two from the sky.

‘It looks quite different to last night,’ said Alie.  ’That’s one thing I like the seaside for; it’s always changing.’

‘And the wind’s gone down with the tide,’ said Randolph, ’though it did blow last night.  There’ll be rough weather before long, everybody says.’

‘I would so like to be in the lighthouse if there was a storm,’ said Biddy.  ’That isn’t naughty to wish, Alie, for the lighthouse is to keep away shipwrecks.  And if there just was one, you know, it would be nice to be there to help the poor wet people, and carry them in to the fire, and rub them dry with hot blankets, like in that story, you know.’

‘A lot you’d be able to carry,’ said Rough contemptuously.  ’Why, you’re so fat and roundabout, and your legs are so short you can scarcely carry yourself.’

‘Rough,’ began Rosalys warningly.  And

‘Alie,’ began Bridget at the same moment in her whining tone, ’do listen to him.’

But a peremptory ‘Hush’ from Randolph checked her.  Both the girls looked up.  A short, rather stout, pleasant-faced man was at that moment overtaking them.

‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said as he passed, and ’Good-morning, Mr. Redding,’ returned Rough courteously, as the other lifted his hat.  Rough had very nice manners.

‘That is Redding, the organist,’ said Rough.  ’He’s something else as well—­a tailor or a draper——­’

‘"A butcher, a baker, or candlestick-maker,"’ interrupted Rosalys laughingly.  She did not mean to make fun of good Mr. Redding, but she wanted to make the others laugh too, to restore their good humour.

‘Well, something, any way,’ Randolph went on.  ’Papa says he’s an awfully good sort of man; he gives all his spare time to the organ for nothing.’

‘That’s very nice,’ said Alie approvingly.

They were near the actual town of Seacove by this time—­town or village, it was difficult to say which, though the rows of tall masts a little way off in the docks and the paved streets hardly seemed to suit the idea of a village.  And a few minutes more brought them to what was ambitiously called the ‘Parade,’ where stood the long low bazaar, with a large placard at the door announcing that ‘entrance’ was ‘free.’

In summer the bazaar blossomed out into twice its winter size, thanks to a tentlike canvas front; at present it was a building of not very imposing appearance.  But it was long in proportion to its width, and one or two gas-jets lighted up the innermost end, even in the daytime.  This gave it a rather mysterious air, and added much to Biddy’s admiration.