unique; as much like a young Gypsy's colour as was compatible with
respectable descent, and yet not a Gypsy's colour. A deep undertone
of 'Romany brown' seemed breaking through that peculiar kind of ruddy
golden glow which no sunshine can give till it has itself been
deepened and coloured and enriched by the responsive kisses of the
sea.

Moreover, there was a certain something in his eyes that was not
Gypsy-like--a something which is not uncommonly seen in the eyes of
boys born along that coast, whether those eyes be black or blue or
grey; a something which cannot be described, but which seems like a
reflex of the daring gaze of that great land-conquering and daring
sea. Very striking was this expression as he momentarily turned his
face landward to watch one of the gulls that had come wheeling up the
cliffs towards the flinty grey tower of the church--the old deserted
church, whose graveyard the sea had already half washed away. As his
eyes followed the bird's movements, however, this daring sea-look
seemed to be growing gradually weaker and weaker. At last it faded
away altogether, and by the time his face was turned again towards
the sea, the look I have tried to describe was supplanted by such a
gaze as that gull would give were it hiding behind a boulder with a
broken wing. A mist of cruel trouble was covering his eyes, and soon
the mist had grown into two bright glittering pearly tears, which,
globing and trembling, larger and larger, were at length big enough
to drown both eyes; big enough to drop, shining, on the grass: big
enough to blot out altogether the most brilliant picture that sea and
sky could make. For that little boy had begun to learn a lesson which
life was going to teach him fully--the lesson that shining sails in
the sunny wind, and black trailing bands of smoke passing here and
there along the horizon, and silvery gulls dipping playfully into the