The misty sea was lapping softly far down on the sands.  Three big boats were skimming down the harbour like great white sea-birds.  A schooner was coming up the channel.  The world of Four Winds was steeped in glowing colour, and subtle music, and strange glamour, and everybody should have been happy in it.  But when Una turned in at Miss Cornelia’s gate her very legs had almost refused to carry her.

Miss Cornelia was alone on the veranda.  Una had hoped Mr. Elliott would be there.  He was so big and hearty and twinkly that there would be encouragement in his presence.  She sat on the little stool Miss Cornelia brought out and tried to eat the doughnut Miss Cornelia gave her.  It stuck in her throat, but she swallowed desperately lest Miss Cornelia be offended.  She could not talk; she was still pale; and her big, dark-blue eyes looked so piteous that Miss Cornelia concluded the child was in some trouble.

“What’s on your mind, dearie?” she asked.  “There’s something, that’s plain to be seen.”

Una swallowed the last twist of doughnut with a desperate gulp.

“Mrs. Elliott, won’t you take Mary Vance?” she said beseechingly.

Miss Cornelia stared blankly.

“Me!  Take Mary Vance!  Do you mean keep her?”

“Yes—­keep her—­adopt her,” said Una eagerly, gaining courage now that the ice was broken.  “Oh, Mrs. Elliott, please do.  She doesn’t want to go back to the asylum—­she cries every night about it.  She’s so afraid of being sent to another hard place.  And she’s so smart—­there isn’t anything she can’t do.  I know you wouldn’t be sorry if you took her.”

“I never thought of such a thing,” said Miss Cornelia rather helplessly.

“Won’t you think of it?” implored Una.

“But, dearie, I don’t want help.  I’m quite able to do all the work here.  And I never thought I’d like to have a home girl if I did need help.”

The light went out of Una’s eyes.  Her lips trembled.  She sat down on her stool again, a pathetic little figure of disappointment, and began to cry.

“Don’t—­dearie—­don’t,” exclaimed Miss Cornelia in distress.  She could never bear to hurt a child.  “I don’t say I won’t take her—­but the idea is so new it has just kerflummuxed me.  I must think it over.”

“Mary is so smart,” said Una again.

“Humph!  So I’ve heard.  I’ve heard she swears, too.  Is that true?”

“I’ve never heard her swear exactly,” faltered Una uncomfortably.  “But I’m afraid she could.”

“I believe you!  Does she always tell the truth?”

“I think she does, except when she’s afraid of a whipping.”

“And yet you want me to take her!”

“Some one has to take her,” sobbed Una.  “Some one has to look after her, Mrs. Elliott.”

“That’s true.  Perhaps it is my duty to do it,” said Miss Cornelia with a sigh.  “Well, I’ll have to talk it over with Mr. Elliott.  So don’t say anything about it just yet.  Take another doughnut, dearie.”