Not that any one objects to a blue print dress and a white apron in a cottage garden.
"Look--she has to draw her water from a well in the garden." "Very lonely it must be in winter, with the wind sweeping over those hills, and the waves dashing on the rocks." Even on a summer's day you hear them murmuring.
Having drawn her water, Mrs.Pascoe went in.

The tourists regretted that they had brought no glasses, so that they might have read the name of the tramp steamer.

Indeed, it was such a fine day that there was no saying what a pair of field-glasses might not have fetched into view.
Two fishing luggers, presumably from St.Ives Bay, were now sailing in an opposite direction from the steamer, and the floor of the sea became alternately clear and opaque.

As for the bee, having sucked its fill of honey, it visited the teasle and thence made a straight line to Mrs.
Pascoe's patch, once more directing the tourists' gaze to the old woman's print dress and white apron, for she had come to the door of the cottage and was standing there.
There she stood, shading her eyes and looking out to sea.
For the millionth time, perhaps, she looked at the sea.

A peacock butterfly now spread himself upon the teasle, fresh and newly emerged, as the blue and chocolate down on his wings testified.