But it was partly for this reason that Mrs. Tregenza refused to be
comforted. She grudged every farthing spent on anything, and much disliked
the notion of tramping to Penzance to expend the greater part of a
five-pound note on Tom's sea outfit. In a better cause she would not have
thought it ill to expend money upon him. His position pointed to something
higher than a fisherman's life. He might have aspired to a shop in the
future together with a measure of worldly prosperity and importance not to
be expected for any mere seafarer. But Tom had settled the matter by
deciding for himself, and his father had approved the ambition, so there
the matter ended, save for grumbling and sighing. Joan, too, felt sore
enough at heart when she heard that the long-dreaded event lay but a
fortnight in the future. But she knew her father, and felt sure that the
certainty of Tom's going to sea at the appointed time would now only be
defeated by death or the Judgment Day. So she did not worry or fret.
Nothing served to soothe her stepmother, however, and the girl was glad to
slip off after dinner, leaving Thomasin with her troubles.
Joan made brisk way through Mousehole and in less than an hour stood out
among the furzes in the little lonely theater above the cliffs. For a
moment she saw nothing of John Barron, then she found him sitting on a
camp-stool before a light easel which looked all legs with a mere little
square patch of a picture perched upon them.
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