Biddy felt very cross when she remembered that her father was out.  She strolled to the window; it was still bright and sunny—­a sudden thought struck her.  She hurried upstairs to the room where her hat and jacket were lying as she had just taken them off—­her boots were still on her feet, and in less time than it takes me to tell, for Biddy could be quick if she chose, a sturdy little figure might have been seen trotting down the sandy path which led to the shore.

’If they leave me alone I’m forced to amuse myself and do things alone,’ she said to herself, as a sort of excuse to her own conscience, which was trying, poor thing, to make itself heard, reminding her too that there were plenty of things she could have done comfortably at home in the nursery, where Jane Dodson was not bad company when allowed to talk in her own slow way.  There were to-morrow’s lessons in the first place—­pleasant, easy lessons to do alone, and not too much of them; and there was the kettle-holder she was making for grandmamma’s birthday!  But no, Biddy refused to listen.  She was determined to carry out the wild scheme she had got in her head—­’It will be nice to put Celestina down,’ she said to herself.

A very few minutes’ quick walking, or running rather, for Biddy could run too when she chose, brought her to the end, or the beginning, whichever you like to call it, of the long rough road, so to speak, of stones, stretching far out to sea.  Biddy had gone some way along it two or three times when out with the others; it was a very interesting place to walk along, as the outgoing tide left dear little pools, which held all sorts of treasures in the way of seaweed and tiny crabs and jellyfish, besides which, the scrambling over the pools and picking one’s way was very exciting, especially when there was a merry party of three or four together.  Biddy found it amusing enough even by herself, for some little time, that is to say.  But after a while she got rather tired of not being able to walk straight on, and once or twice sharp stones cut and bruised her feet, and she wished she had some one’s hand to take to steady her.  She was very eager to get to the other end of the tongue, or ridge of stones, for once there she felt sure it would be but easy walking over sand to the lighthouse.  For the lighthouse as you will have guessed, was her destination!

‘I daresay the sand’ll be rather wet,’ she thought; ’it must be the wetness that Celestina thought was water, for it shines just like water sometimes.  I’ll run over it very quick and my boots are thick.  What fun it’ll be to tell Celestina I’ve been to the lighthouse all by myself!’

But the stones grew rougher and rougher.  The tongue was not really more than half a mile long, but it seemed much more.  Several times before she got to the end of it Biddy looked back with a half acknowledged thought that perhaps it would be best to give up the expedition after all—­no one need know she had tried it.  But behind her by this time the rough stones seemed a dreary way, and in front it did not now look far.  She felt as if she could not go back, and she had a sort of vague hope that somehow or other the nice old man Celestina had told her of would help her to get home an easier way.  Perhaps he would take her round in a boat!