LOVEDAY, meanwhile, was having a most interesting and beautiful time, and she and Aaron had become great friends. They had some little and quarrels too, of course, but not very serious ones.  
The most serious perhaps was that when they disagreed about their names, when Loveday was certainly rather unkind, and Aaron grew angry and was rude. They were both tired, and very hungry; so hungry that it seemed as though the dinner hour was delaying on purpose.
 
“I don’t know why people think they mustn’t eat till the clock strikes so many times,” said Loveday crossly; “I think it would be much more sensible to eat when you are hungry.”
 
“You’ve got to know what time dinner is to be, or you wouldn’t know when to put things on to cook. I should have thought you’d have known that,” said Aaron; and he in a tone that annoyed Loveday more than anything—a kind of superior, older tone, as though he were talking to a baby.
 
Loveday did not reply, but sat and looked at Aaron as if in deep thought; her eyes sparkled wickedly, though. “I do think,” she said at last, speaking very slowly and distinctly, “that yours is the ugliest name I ever heard. I can’t think how any one could choose such a name!”
 
She was sitting on the sand, her elbow on her knee, her chin in her hand. Aaron was lying near her, flat on his back. When he heard her he sat up very straight, his face quite red with anger. Loveday was cool and calm, and spoke with a deliberate scorn that hurt him more than anything else she could have done.
 
His name was that of his father and grandfather, and he had been rather proud of it hitherto.
 
“I—I think it’s a fine name,” he ; “so does everybody but you; and you can’t say anything, yours is ugly enough—it’s a silly name too.”
 
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Loveday calmly. “I think it is a very pretty name, so does everybody; but of course you don’t know, you are so young.”
 
“Yes, I do,” Aaron; “I know as well as anybody, and I call it ugly, a silly girl’s name,” with great scorn.
 
“Well, of course, I shouldn’t be called by a boy’s name,” she retorted scornfully; “but if I had been a boy, and they’d christened me Aaron, why, I—I wouldn’t answer to it!”
 
“Wouldn’t you!” Aaron; “you’d have been only too glad to.”
 
“There are so many pretty names too,” went on Loveday, ignoring his last remark, and gazing at him in a way. “Douglas, and Gerald, and Ronald, and——”
 
“I’d be ’shamed to be called by any of them, silly things! Just like a girl’s!”
 
“Yes, but they aren’t—they’re for boys; you might just as well say my name was like a boy’s—it is rather like some.” Then, after looking at him thoughtfully for a moment, she added slowly, “I think I shall call you ‘Adolphus,’ Aaron is so ugly.”
 
“If you do, I won’t answer,” cried Aaron, springing to his feet, really angry now; “you ain’t going to call me out of my name. If you do, I’ll—I’ll call you Jane!”
 
Loveday . “I don’t mind a bit!” she said ; “I am christened that already, and my sister is called Priscilla Mary, and you are going to be called Aaron Adolphus.”
 
“I’m not! I shan’t speak to you, and I won’t answer to it,” began Aaron, when suddenly his mother’s voice called to them across the sands.
 
“Come along, children—dinner is ready at last!”
 
Loveday sprang at once to her feet. “Come along, Adolphus,” she said naughtily. If Aaron had but laughed, and taken no notice of her teasing, Loveday would probably have found no fun in it, and have stopped very soon, but he was very cross indeed, and sulked over his dinner, and the afternoon might have been spoilt if Bessie had not been so good-tempered and kind.
 
“We are going to change our names,” said Loveday, beginning her teasing again as soon as they had begun to eat.
 
“Oh!” said Bessie, “and what are you to be called now?”
 
“Well, Aaron is to be called Adolphus, only he doesn’t seem to like it, and I am called Jane, and you—let me see, I’ll call you—” Loveday thought and[95] thought, but could not think of anything that quite pleased her.
 
“Well, I don’t mind what it is,” said Bessie, “as long as you don’t call me ‘Bread and Cheese,’ and eat me.” It was an old saying, but a new one to the children, and they both laughed so much that Aaron forgot his sulks, and Loveday her teasing.
 
“I will call you Mother Dutch Cheese,” laughed Aaron.
 
“Then there won’t be much of me left by to-morrow,” said Bessie, pretending to look frightened.
 
“I will call you—” began Loveday, speaking very slowly, for she was trying all the time to think of something very funny to say.
 
“I wonder,” said Bessie, “if, instead of thinking what you shall call me, you would like to pay a call for me this afternoon?”
 
The children looked at her, not quite understanding. Bessie explained:
 
“I want Aaron to go up to Mr. Winter’s with a message, and I thought you would like to go too, Miss Loveday.”
 
“I’d love to!” cried Loveday, who had been ever since she came to Porthcallis to go up the cliff-path to the very top, mounting the little steps, and holding on by the little rail. “When shall we go? Now?”
 
“Finish your dinner first, and sit still for a bit; then I will tidy you both, for Mr. Winter’s , Mrs. Tucker, is a very noticing body.”
 
After the meal was over, and Aaron had said grace, and they had with great difficulty kept quiet for a little while, Bessie began to tidy them. Aaron, beyond having a good wash and his hair brushed, had only a clean holland put on, but Loveday was anxious to make more of a toilette.
 
“Don’t you think,” she said, “that I had better put on this?” dragging out from the drawer a pretty little frock of white silk muslin with blue harebells all over it.
 
“Oh no,” said Bessie; “one of your little cotton over-alls will be much the best.”
 
Loveday looked disappointed and doubtful; in her heart she felt sure that Bessie did not know what was correct.
 
“But if Mr. Winter was to see me——”
 
“Oh dear, you needn’t trouble about Mr. Winter; he keeps well out of the way if there is anybody about; but if he did happen to see you, he wouldn’t know whether you’d got on silk or cotton, or blue or yellow.”
 
“I think he’d notice my white silk sash with the roses on it.”
 
“Well, I don’t, missie. But if he did, he’d only think it was very unsuitable for going up and down cliff-paths; and so it is, too. If you were to slip, why, you’d most likely ruin it for ever. Now be a good little girl, and if you want to please Mr. Winter or Mrs. Tucker with your looks, you’ll go in your nice clean print over-all and sun-hat. You shall wear a white belt about your waist, for fear you might trip on your loose frock going up that steep path.”
 
Loveday was not satisfied, but she was so pleased and excited at the thought of going to the big, mysterious house where the blinds were always , and the master was never seen, that she had no room for any other feeling, and they started off in great good humour.
 
Aaron was so afraid that Loveday would remember and call him Adolphus again, that he did all he could to keep her mind off it, and talked , telling her such wonderful tales.
 
“If Mrs. Tucker doesn’t keep us too long,” said Aaron, “I’ll show you the Fairy Ring, where they come and dance every night at twelve o’clock. It is right on top of the cliff, and not far from Mr. Winter’s.”
 
“That will be lovely!” cried Loveday delightedly. “Let’s sit down for a minute; I’m tired.”
 
So they sat down on one of the little steps, and looked down and around and all about them. Already the cottage seemed ever so far off, and so tiny.
 
“It looks as if there could be only one little room in it, doesn’t it?” said Loveday. “And oh, how far away the sea looks, and that little boat! Why, it is quite a little teeny-tiny thing. Oh, don’t let’s look any more; it makes my head go round so.”
 
“I’ll sit outside,” said Aaron; “it won’t seem so bad then.”
 
They changed places, but even then Loveday did not like it.
 
“Let’s go on,” she said, “up where we can’t see any of it.”
 
So on they went, and at last reached the green top, and a bit of road which led to the gate of Mr. Winter’s house.
 
Though Loveday had heard about the closed house and the drawn blinds, it still gave her quite a shock when she saw it. There was such a look of desolation,and sadness, and neglect about the whole place. On the side facing the sea, the flower-beds were overgrown with weeds and flowers which straggled about in a wild , clinging together and choking each other; the drawn blinds were faded, the frames of the fast-shut windows were cracked, and badly in want of some coats of paint. A rose-bush, that at one............