four o'clock in the afternoon
BY SARAH DOUDNEY . `` I say , Bee , are you coming ? '' Claude Molyneux , in all the glory of fourteen summers and a suit of new white flannels , stands looking up with a slight frown of impatience at an open bay-window . It has been one of the hottest of August days ; and now at four o'clock in the afternoon the haze of heat hangs over the sea , and makes a purple cloud of the distant coast . But , for all that , it is splendid weather ; just the kind of weather that a boy likes when he comes to spend his holidays at the seaside ; and Claude , who is an Indian-born boy , has no objection to a good hot summer . As he stands , hands in pockets , on the narrow pebbled path under the window , you can not help admiring the grace of his slim , well-knit figure , and the delicate moulding of his features . The fair skin is sun-tanned , as a boy 's skin ought to be ; the eyes , large and heavy-lidded , are of a dark grey , not brilliant , but soft ; the light , fine hair is cropped close to the shapely head .