Drifted ashore;

“TO-MORROW, Bertie, to-morrow!” whispered Phil, in a sort of ecstatic excitement. “Keep it dark; and be ready at nine sharp. Do you think you could get David to come too without the Squire’s knowing it?”

“No; but if I ask him to let him come with me, I know he will say yes. Of course I shall tell him where I am going,—I always do.”

Phil whistled a little.

“Do you though? I hadn’t bargained for that; but you won’t say anything about the young gulls.”

“No, that isn’t my secret; I promised not to tell; but I shall have to ask leave to go to the Rocky Bay to-morrow. I know he’ll let me, and he’ll let David come too if I ask, and then I can drive in my little cart and bring something to eat, and you can go in the boat or on your ponies, as you like best.”

“Oh, we shall ride,” answered Phil. “The other fellows would guess there was something up if we wanted the boat out; and, besides, we could not pull it all that way alone. If you have your cart it will be jolly. We can take everything back in it, young birds and all. Oh, yes; we’ll have a rare good day! You’re sure the Squire will let you go?”

“Oh, yes; he is very kind. He always likes me to ask him for things.”

So Bertie made his proposition very boldly that night, and received a ready assent.

Mrs. Pritchard was pleased to supply the party with lunch, and, as David was going, she felt no anxiety as to the safety of her pet. David was a good, steady lad, and could be trusted to look after Master Bertie as carefully as his own mother.

The Squire came out to see the boy drive away. He lifted him into the varnished cart, and as he gave him the reins he said,—

“A nice day to you my boy. Take care of yourself; but don’t go climbing about the rocks after sea-gulls’ eggs, or you’ll be getting into danger.”

The pony had started before his words were all spoken, so that he could not see the sudden cloud that fell upon Bertie’s face. The little boy drove through the park with a keen sense of disappointment weighing upon him. What had put it into the Squire’s head to utter that prohibition just at the last? Did he really mean what he said, or was it only spoken in jest?

Bertie had half a mind to turn back and plead for a reversal of the verdict; but he resisted the temptation, and drove on in silence. He was afraid, for one thing, of betraying the secret entrusted to him by his companions; and, for another, he had not lived for a year beneath the Squire’s roof without learning that, however kind and considerate he might be, his will was law to all about him, and that he never gave an order, however trifling, without some good reason, and always expected that order to be strictly carried out.

So Bertie knew that there would be no climbing that day for him, and he was keenly disappointed; for he was sure that Queenie would accuse him of cowardice, and he was well aware that he had acquired, by practice in trees and crumbling walls, and about the roof of the old Manor House, a skill and agility in climbing with which he had quite hoped to take his companions by storm.

However, there was nothing for it now but to obey,—for, to do the child justice, he never dreamed of disobedience,—and it was with a heart a good deal less light than he had expected that he joined his companions at the place they had agreed upon.

Phil had a good big basket with him, which was transferred to the cart, and the little cavalcade set forwards. Conversation was not altogether easy between the riders and driver, so Bertie’s silence passed unnoticed; but the faithful David felt certain his little master was cast down about something, and, making a shrewd guess, he whispered,—

“Don’t ’ee be sad about it, Master Bertie; I’ll get thee the best eggs as can be had in the bay. I know where them birds build, I do, and I’ll see thee has all thee wants. I’ll get thee a pair of young uns too, if so be as they’re hatched and fledged; but we’re full early for birds yet.”

“Yes, but Phil has to go back to school so soon that we had to come to-day. Don’t you get into any danger, David. I don’t care about the eggs—at least not so very much.”

“Bless thy heart! ’tis nothing to me. I’ve been born and bred to it all my life long.”

By the time the little party had reached the bay, the sun was riding high in the sky, and the children were hungry and thirsty as well as hot.

David took the ponies away to the farm, and the others carried the baskets down the rocky path into the bay. Lunch was, of course, the first consideration, and as Queenie set to work upon her sandwiches and cake, she looked across at Phil and said,—

“Why, we haven’t told Bertie about Uncle Fred!”

“What about him?” asked Bertie.

“Why, he’s landed in England—he and his wife, you know. They came one steamer before we expected. They’re in London now—at least they were last night. They stayed a few days there, and to-day they’re coming down to us. The house belongs to Uncle Fred now, you know, and we shall soon leave it. When we get home Uncle Fred will be there.”

“Yes, and a new aunt,” added Queenie, laughing; “it will seem so funny to have a new aunt. What did mamma say her name was? Wasn’t it Aunt Winifred?”

Bertie suddenly put up his hand to his head, as he used sometimes to do when he first came, but hardly ever now. Queenie noticed the movement, and paused to ask,—

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “What were you saying? Go on, please.”

“Well, it is not our house any longer, and we shall go very soon. Shall you mind?”

“I shall be sorry,” answered Bertie, slowly. “But I suppose you will come there sometimes?”

“To see Uncle Fred? Oh yes, of course. Uncle Fred is sure to ask Phil and me every year. It will be nice to come here sometimes and see you again. I like this place, though perhaps it is a little dull for living in always.”

“I think it’s jolly!” cried Phil. “I like it heaps better than London. However, as I’m at school now, it doesn’t so very much matter to me. Eton is out and out the best place in the world!”

“You like it better than Dr. Steele’s?” said Bertie, gravely; and Phil laughed uproariously at the question, remembering old times there, and his half-triumphant, half-ignominious flight from his old abode just about a year ago.

After the children had satisfied their hunger, the main business of the day began. Eager eyes were fixed upon the rocky ledges of the perpendicular cliff, and the movements of the sea-gulls who frequented the spot were closely watched.

David’s opinion was eagerly waited for. He did not seem to think that there were as many birds as usual building, or at least laying their eggs in this place; but his practised eye discovered one or two places where he felt certain, from the movements of the parent birds, that the young were already hatched; and there were sure to be other nooks where eggs might be found, if a patient and careful search were made.

Phil, who was ambitious, was bent on securing some young birds, and he made David point out the places where he thought these were to be found. Phil made his selection from these, and, although the elder lad shook his head and said he did not think he would ever reach the place, the schoolboy was in no wise daunted by difficulties.

When Phil had begun his cautious climb, and David had left them to hunt for eggs, Queenie, who had been watching her brother’s movements with some attention, turned suddenly upon Bertie, and asked,—

“And what are you going to do?”

Bertie looked rather red, and answered,—

“Nothing.”

Queenie’s eyebrows went up.

“What do you mean? You’ve been boasting all this time about how you’ve been climbing and what wonderful things you can do. It was all practising for to-day. Why don’t you show us what you can do?”

Bertie was more red than ever now. He had not really boasted at all, but he had admitted to Phil that he had been doing a good deal of climbing, and hoped to be able to make good use of his agility when the day came to visit the Rocky Bay. He was intensely eager now to show his prowess and to join the climbers in their ascent; but he stood quite still, looking sheepish and disturbed.

Queenie looked at him with a surprise that changed to scorn.

“You are afraid,” she said, disdainfully. “Why could you not say so before?”

“I’m not afraid,” answered Bertie, rather hotly. “I’m no more afraid than you.”

Queenie tossed her head scornfully.

“Then why on earth don’t you go? I know it’s because you’re afraid. You always were a pitiful little coward—all the boys say so.”

Bertie clenched his hands tightly, tears of anger and mortification stood in his eyes. It was very hard to be accused of cowardice when he felt himself quite innocent of the charge; and the worst of it was that Queenie would never understand his real motive. Obedience was not a part of her moral code.

With a great effort the little boy swallowed his resentment, and said, quietly,—

“The Squire told me this morning that I was not to climb the rocks for eggs.”

Queenie only looked the more scornful.

“Of course he did. They all do. Papa always does whenever we come here. If he had known Phil was going to-day, he would have forbidden him; but nobody cares for that. Rules are only made to be broken, you know. They must have exceptions, or they wouldn’t be rules—everybody knows that. I know now why you would tell the Squire. You wanted him to forbid you because you were afraid. I always thought you were a horrid little coward, and now I know it!”

When Queenie was vexed, she did not pause to consider other people’s feelings, and she had grown up with brothers who were used to her sharp speeches and did not mind them much. They knew that “her bark was worse than her bite,” as the proverb says, and did not trouble themselves over her angry words; but Bertie was not hardened like this. He was not accustomed to be spoken to so harshly, and his eyes filled again with tears of mortification and distress.

Queenie was something of a little tyrant. She liked to feel her own power, and she was inclined to use it rather mercilessly. Seeing that she had made an impression upon her companion, she proceeded to improve the occasion.

“You who lectured Phil so about courage! It is uncommonly easy to talk big, Master Bertie” (Queenie evidently found it so, at any rate); “but when it comes to deeds the case is very different. The idea that you ever dared to talk to him about courage! I wonder you’re not ashamed of yourself!”

Bertie attempted no defence: for one thing, talking was not his strong point; and for another, he knew that any words of his would be quite wasted on Queenie, who was entirely impervious to reasonable argument when she had once mounted her high horse. So there was silence between them for a few moments; and, before anybody had attempted to reopen the conversation, the silence was broken by an alarming sound, the cry of a boy in distress.

For the last few minutes they had ceased to watch Phil’s ascent of the cliff, being engrossed in their own argument. Looking up quickly now with startled eyes, they saw that his position had become sufficiently perilous.

He had clambered from ledge to ledge with great skill and address; but he had not troubled himself to make sure, in the excitement of the ascent, that it was possible to descend in the same manner. He had been tempted on to really difficult places, and suddenly he had found himself upon a narrow rocky ridge whence he could make no step either forward or backward. His last step had been a fragment of rock that had given way as he quitted it, and he had narrowly escaped a fall that must have proved fatal. But his present position was perilous enough to threaten his safety, and, as is so often the case in the presence of real danger, giddiness seized upon him, and he clung to the hard rock with convulsive terror, and called aloud in his fright.

Queenie’s shriek of terror brought David quickly to their side, and he at once realized the peril of Phil’s position; but he knew better than the children what to do, and the emergency seemed to give him courage and presence of mind beyond his years.

“Hold on! hold on, Master Phil!” he shouted. “Shut your eyes and hold on for ten minutes. There’s plenty of foothold there; and if you’ll just keep quiet and not look up or down, we’ll do something for you directly.”

And then, calling the others to follow, he commenced climbing the cliff path with the agility of a goat.

Bertie was not much behind, and Queenie, to whom terror lent wings, arrived closely in their wake. In a basket left up at the top of the cliff was a coil of rope of very fair strength.

David had brought it in case it might be needed, and it was well indeed that he had done so. In a few words he explained his plan.

“It’s no good Master Phil trying to catch the rope if we let it down to him. He’s much too giddy for one thing, and for another the edge overhangs a bit here, and he never could reach it if he hadn’t all his wits about him. I’m going to tie it round my waist and clamber down to him. It’s not easy to get down from the top, but it can be done with a rope round one pretty safely. When I get to him I’ll put the rope on him and you’ll draw him up between you; he’ll climb too, of course, but the rope will help him and keep him safe. Then you’ll let it down for me, and make it swing backwards and forwards till I can reach it. I shan’t be giddy, I’ll get it right enough, and the three of you can help me up, I know, and we’ll all be all right then.”

David had spoken with a rapidity and energy quite foreign to his ordinary nature, whilst the pressure of excitement and responsibility was upon him; and as he spoke he was unwinding the rope and making a slip knot at one end; but before he had tied it round himself Bertie had stopped him.

“David,” he said, with a little touch of authority in his tone, not usual with the gentle little boy towards one who was his companion and friend as well as his servant, “you must let me go down to Phil with the rope. I do not think Queenie and I could pull him up by ourselves if he cannot help himself much, and I do not think anybody but you could swing the rope for the other one to catch by and by. I can climb very well, and I am not giddy. You must let me go.”

For a few minutes there was a sort of argument between the two boys: David reluctant to let Bertie endanger himself ever so little, Bertie quite convinced that the only way of securing the safety of all was in his plan. Queenie took no part in the talk, only standing by with clasped hands and dilated eyes, wishing, even at this moment when she had so much else upon her mind, that she had never called Bertie a coward, for was he not going to risk his own safety to secure that of Phil?

Bertie’s counsel prevailed. Indeed, it was evidently sound, and his quiet determination carried the day.

“I am not going after sea-gulls’ eggs,” he said to himself, as he commenced his perilous descent. “I know the Squire would let me go to try and save Phil.”