He moved up to her, laid his hand upon one of hers, as it still clutched the paper of sandwiches, and sat down.

“Everyone seems eating sandwiches today,” he threw out.

“Best thing to do, boy,” she replied; “best thing to do! They’re lettuce.”

“What a day it is, isn’t it, Miss Gault?” he murmured vaguely, glancing at the words “William Solent,” upon which the sun was pouring its friendliest benediction.

She peered obliquely into his face. “What’s the matter with you, boy?” she said earnestly; and then, with a nervous apology in her tone, “It’s Emma’s day out; so I thought I might as well have a picnic.”

“Oh, I’m all right, Miss Gault! Tired of school, perhaps. But we’ve all got to feel the pinch somewhere.”

“Take off your cap, Wolf, and let me look at you.”