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and rubbing her cheek against his coat sleeve, as if there were something comforting in the very feel of the cloth.
    "You must live it down. It may take a long time, and a great deal of patience, but I'm sure you'll win, and the girls will be proud of you yet."
    "Proud! They may get to tolerate me, but I don't believe I'll ever make them like me, Daddy!"
    "Courage! We never know what we can do till we try. If you want to be liked, make yourself wanted. Good night, childie! Cheer up! The world's not such a bad place, after all."
    "Not while you're in it!" said Gwen, kissing the dear, plain face that was so like her own.
CHAPTER VII
    Dick Chambers
    Since the afternoon when Gwen had stopped behind in Stedburgh to arrange about the broken china, and had been obliged to walk home, she had seen nothing more of Dick Chambers. She looked out for him every morning on the bus, but he was not there, and she was just wondering what had become of him when he turned up in the most unexpected quarter. It was the Saturday morning after the prize-giving. Saturday was a whole holiday, and therefore a blissful day, every moment of which was appreciated. Gwen was returning about ten o'clock from an errand she had been sent to do in the village, and as she opened the Parsonage gate she saw in the middle of the front walk a boyish figure that looked familiar.
    "Hello! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
    "Come on business of a rather particular character," grinned Dick. "Didn't you know your Father's coaching me?"
    "He never said so!"
    "He is, though. I'm to come three days a week, from nine to ten, and I've just made a start this morning. I say, he's a ripping chap!"
    "I agree with you there," remarked Gwen. "But why aren't you going to school?"
    "Thereby hangs a tale! I happened to do an idiotic thing one afternoon--fainted in the lab, and had to be picked up in the midst of fragments of glass that I'd smashed to smithereens. Then Dad got some wretched specialist to come down and see me, and the fellow said I must stop school for this term at any rate."
    "Oh, I'm so sorry! Do you feel ill?"
    "No. I'm all right--but it's rather rotten, for I'm knocked off 'footer'."
    "How sickening for you! I know how wild I should be if I mightn't play hockey. What may you do?"
    "Only just loaf about--not even golf."
    "May you go walks?"
    "Oh, yes! but it's rather slow mooning about on the moors by oneself."
    "Have you been to see Stack Head, where the sea-birds build? Or the chasms? Oh! you ought to go there! I'll show you the way if you like!"
    "I wish you would!"
    "There'd be heaps of time this morning--that's to say if I may go," added Gwen, suddenly recollecting that she had promised Beatrice on her honour not to go anywhere without leave. "Oh, here's Dad, so I can ask him."
    "Yes, by all means take Dick to Stack Head, the walk will do him good," replied Mr. Gascoyne. "Be careful, and don't scramble about too much, that's all--those cliffs are dangerous, remember!"
    "We'll go as cautiously as two pussy-cats," said Gwen.
    "Hardly an apt simile!" laughed Mr. Gascoyne, pointing to Pluto, the black Persian, that was careering madly up a tree at the moment. "However, you're used to Skelwick rocks, and Dick will have to learn his footing. Only please don't learn it at the expense of your neck, Dick! We haven't gone far enough with the Latin prose yet!"
    "You needn't be afraid for me, sir, though I came a cropper over old Cicero this morning," laughed Dick.
    It was a beautiful, sunny day in early November; one of those late autumn days when a little crisp hoar frost lingers in the hollows, but in the full sunshine it is almost as warm as summer. Gwen fetched a favourite stick, her indispensable companion on the moors, and, discarding her jacket, set forth joyously for a five-mile tramp. She loved the great bare headland that rose behind the Parsonage; there was a sense of freedom in leaving the houses of the village, and seeing only sea and sky around, and