"I'm the captain, and you're the bo'sun, Bertie," explained Pickle; "Puck's the cabin-boy, and Milly's a passenger. Everybody else has been drowned dead, and we've been cast ashore on the island. So we have to light a fire as a signal to any passing ship to come and take us off."

"Oh, but we don't want to be taken off!" shrieked Milly; "we want to stay all the afternoon! If they see our fire perhaps they'll come too soon. We don't want that."

However, Pickle decreed that this risk must be run, as they must have their tea, and all castaways lighted a fire when they could. He had matches ready, and very soon the dry seaweed kindled, and a merry little fire was soon burning in the hole. It was not long before the kettle boiled, and very proud was Milly of being permitted to put in the tea, and officiate at the dispensing of the liquid.

They had only one mug, and some lumps of sugar, and no milk; but that mattered very little. Castaways could not expect luxuries, and the cakes were excellent.

Bertie was in rampant spirits. This was true liberty, and he was eager for remaining on the island permanently. There was a hole on the other side where they could sleep upon a bed of dried seaweed; and then in the mornings they could bathe in the pool, and he could learn to swim, and Milly could cook their food, and they would catch fish, and crabs, and shrimps, and live like princes.

Puck was rather taken by the idea.

"We shouldn't have any lessons then with the old Owl," he remarked. "I don't like lessons. It's such a waste of time, when one might be having fun. I can't see what good lessons are to anybody. I asked Crump once if he remembered the dates of all the kings and queens, and he said he was afraid he didn't, though he could have said them off pat when he was my age. If one may forget everything as soon as one grows up, what's the use of making such a fuss about learning them?"

"Crump says it trains the mind to learn," said Pickle, jumping up; "but I should think living on an island and doing everything for oneself would train it much more. Let's go and see the hole, Bert. P'r'aps we won't stay to-day—we've not brought quite enough things; but we might collect them here for a bit, and then when we've got enough we might come over, and let the boat go adrift, and live like cave-men as long as we liked. It would do for our city of refuge, you know," and he looked across at Puck, who capered in great glee.

"Of course, of course, of course!" he shouted; "we ought to have a city of refuge!"

"What's that?" asked Bertie eagerly.

"Oh, it's all in the Bible," answered Puck. "We found it one day, and told Crump; and we asked if we might have one, and he said yes, if we could find it; and so we made it. It was out on the stable roof—such a jolly place!—no avenger of blood could ever get up there. Crump did try once; but he stuck fast, and we sat and roared at him. It was a fine city of refuge. We always went there when people were angry. Once we were up there nearly all day; and if we'd had more gingerbread we'd never have come down till they'd promised not to punish us. But Miss Masters sat at the bottom of the ladder that time, and she whipped us when we had to come down. That was what I call being real mean. What's the good of a city of refuge if the avenger of blood sits waiting for you at the bottom of the ladder? We asked Crump to tell her never to do it again, but I don't know if he ever did. Soon after that we came here, and the old Owl teaches us instead."

"And you haven't got a city of refuge here?" asked the breathless Milly.

"No; but I think we shall want one," said Pickle seriously. "There's something about Old Bobby and the Owl that I don't quite like. They can be very jolly; but they seem to think they're going to have it very much their own way. I don't like giving in to a pair of old fogies like that. I think this island might come in very useful."

"Prissy could never find us here!" cried Milly under her breath; "we could do the loveliest things! Oh, do let us have a city of refuge!"

They explored the island with breathless interest. It seemed an excellent place for their design. There was no danger of its ever being covered at high tide; there was a rent in one side, not quite a cave, but a deep fissure, which would give protection from wind and some shelter from rain, and prove an excellent place of concealment. There was the big pool for bathing in, and little pools for keeping their treasures in the way of anemones and other sea-water creatures. And though the tides might wash away the old treasures, there would be new ones deposited instead, and altogether it seemed a most desirable sort of place.

"We'll collect things here," said Pickle with decision. "That was the worst of our other city of refuge; there was no place to keep anything. We had just to carry up with us what we wanted, and unless we could get down into the house without being seen we couldn't get anything more. Once Jim, the stable-boy, brought us some apples; but he didn't generally know when we were up there. We'll lay in a regular store of things, and then if they get cross we can come here and stop for a week. They'll be so frightened by that time that they'll never think of being angry when we get back, if we don't stay here always."

"Are you sure?" asked Milly eagerly. "I feel as though mother would get angrier and angrier the longer we stayed away."

But Pickle looked immensely wise.

"No, it isn't like that," he said; "they begin by getting angrier and angrier, but then they get frightened, and when they're just as frightened as they can be, then if you go back they don't scold—at least hardly at all. They're only all in a tremble lest you've got wet or something like that—as if one were a cat. It's very stupid of them, but it's very convenient for us. You get more fun and less scolding that way."

"O Pickle! how do you know?"

"Oh, we've tried it so often, and with different nurses and governesses, and with Granny and Crump. We know all about that sort of thing. Crump was the worst to reckon on. He would sometimes say very little that day, but take it out of you next. But then Crump was Crump, and one never minded much what he did. I wish we had him here now."

"Would he let you have a city of refuge out here?" asked Milly wonderingly.

"Of course he would. Crump isn't like a pack of silly women, who always think one is going to kill oneself. Crump likes boys to do things for themselves, and not be always hanging round and asking other people to take care of them. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up, and soldiers have to learn how to do lots of things; and Puck will be either a soldier or a sailor. Crump said we might choose for ourselves; and when we had chosen we must stick to it like bricks, and so we will."

"I'm going to be a Cornish boy!" cried Bertie; "my father said so. Cornish boys can all swim, and row boats, and wrestle, and things like that. We'll learn all about that at the city of refuge. It's the women who spoil everything. Let's pass a law that no woman shall ever be allowed to set foot on our island."

"Then you mustn't count me a woman!" cried Milly appealingly.

"Of course not!" answered all the boys at once; and Pickle went on judicially—"We shan't count all girls as women—only the very stupid ones like Pretty Polly. Tousle may come as a visitor sometimes; and you may come always, Milly, if you'll be jolly and not tell secrets. I don't count people like you women. You have some sense."

"And perhaps if you get regularly jolly, you won't ever be a woman," added Puck consolingly. "I should think there must be some way of stopping it. When Old Bobby or the Owl are in good temper I'll ask them about it. They have all sorts of funny things in bottles and tanks, and they can do lots of queer things. I'll ask them if they can't do something to stop you always being a woman. You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?"

"Oh yes!" cried Milly eagerly. "If I could be a Cornish boy I should be quite happy."

But time was flying fast, and, unless the children wanted their secret to escape them too soon, they would have to be going back. They had had a fine time out on the island, and the tide had begun to flow again, and had floated their boat, which, for above an hour, had been lying stranded amid the rocks.

So in they all tumbled, and rowed back homewards, reaching the creek as the clock in the village church chimed out the hour of six.

"We shall just get home in time!" cried Milly, "and nobody will know we haven't been playing about near home all the time.—Pickle, may we tell father about the city of refuge—just as a secret? I'm sure he won't mind; and if he doesn't tell mother it will be all right."

"Well, I'll think about it," answered Pickle, in his capacity of captain; "but don't you tell anything till I give you leave."

CHAPTER V.
AT THE CRAG.

"You must come, Tousle; you must, you must, you must!"

The boys were dancing round her like a pair of wild Indians, and Esther gave up the unequal struggle.

"I'll come if you want me very much," she said rather wearily, "but I think you'd enjoy yourselves just as much without me."

"Well, it's not so much that we couldn't do without you ourselves," returned Puck, with his habitual candor; "but Old Bobby says he won't have us without our keeper, and that means you, though I'm sure I don't know why he should call you that."

"Nor I," answered Esther, shaking her head. She felt very little power over the mercurial pair whom she had vainly tried to make her charge. They were fond of her, in a fashion, and she was fond of them. Their arrival had brought a new element into her life; and there were many happy hours when they played together joyously, and Esther forgot her gravity and grown-up ways, and laughed and raced about and shouted gleefully, as other children do.

Yet it could not be denied that the boys brought many new anxieties into her life, and the uncertainty as to what they would do next kept her upon tenter-hooks from week's end to week's end.

They did not want to give trouble and pain; they only wanted to amuse themselves and to be left alone. They were accustomed to liberty and independence, and were on the whole very well able to take care of themselves. But they were full of spirit, and they delighted in mischief; and something in the prim and proper methods prevailing in this little place stirred up the spirit of mischief within them, and led them to commit more pranks, perhaps, than they would otherwise have thought of.

Mrs. St. Aiden took things easily, fortunately for Esther. The boys amused her. She did not see very much of them, and on the whole they behaved nicely towards her, having received rather explicit commands on this point from their father.

They could not always restrain their mischievous devices even where she was concerned. One morning when her breakfast-tray was brought up, and she uncovered the plate where some little hot dainty generally reposed, behold there was a large toad sitting upon an empty plate, and gazing at her with its jewel-like eyes; and the shout of laughter which followed upon her startled scream betrayed the presence of the lurking conspirators, who had deftly made an exchange of plates whilst Esther's back was turned, just before she took the tray up-stairs.

Still, in spite of sundry tricks of this sort, Mrs. St. Aiden did not object on the whole to the presence of the boys in the house. She liked to hear their racy accounts of what they did from day to day, and there was always Mr. Trelawny to fall back upon if they threatened to become too much for her.

A long afternoon at the Crag had been promised to the boys for some while, on the first half-holiday when their conduct through the week had won them the right to the treat.

Mr. Earle was to be the judge on this point, and it was some time before he could honestly say it was deserved. Mr. Earle was exciting Esther's admiration by the way he was obtaining the upper hand of the restless and obstreperous boys.

At first they had obviously regarded lesson hours as so much time for the invention of tricks for the interruption of study, and the playing off of practical jokes. But gradually they had come to an understanding that their tutor regarded matters differently, and that he had just as definite ideas as they upon the subject. Then had come a certain battle of wills between the belligerents, and little by little it became evident that the tutor was becoming the victor. He did not often have to resort to corporal chastisement, though he had once given Pickle a sound caning for insubordination, and Puck had had two or three good cuts across his grubby little hand. But he had other ways of showing that he meant to be master in study hours; and Esther had come to have a great admiration for him, and a sense of confidence in his presence, although the halo of dread which surrounded all persons connected with the Crag still continued to cling about him.

It had been a great relief to her when Saturday after Saturday Mr. Earle had looked through his mark book and had shaken his head at the proposal of the promised treat. She did not want Pickle and Puck to be naughty, but she did not in the least want to go up with them to spend the afternoon at Mr. Trelawny's house. And yet it was understood that she was to accompany the boys, "to keep them in order," as the master of the house said, though Esther knew perfectly that if anybody succeeded in keeping the pair in order it would be himself or Mr. Earle.

"He likes you, Tousle," said Pickle shrewdly; "he likes you a lot better than us. I don't think he cares for us a bit; but he's fond of you. I can't think why you don't like him."

"I never said I didn't like him," said Esther nervously.

"No; but anybody not a fool could see it with half an eye. I can't think why you don't. He's an awfully jolly old boy, for all he's so gruff and such an old tyrant. He'd like you to like him I'm sure. I can't think why you don't."

"You'd much better," advised Puck, "or perhaps you'll make him angry, and then he might put you into one of his tanks and use you for his experiments. I think it's silly of you always to run away and hide when he comes. He's always asking where you have gone to, and when we tell him you're hiding away from him, he looks as if he didn't quite like it, though he always laughs his big, gruff laugh."

"O Puck! why do you tell?"

"Well, we must speak the truth," said Puck with an air of virtue; "and you know you do always scuttle away when he comes."

"Never mind," cried Pickle, who was in a mighty hurry to be off; "come along now, and let's go up. We may go any time after dinner, you know."

"It's so hot!" said Esther with a little sigh. "Would it do if I came a little later? The sun makes my head ache."

"Oh, but it's all in the wood, and I don't believe he'll have us without you. Do come along. Boys never have headaches. I don't see why girls should have either."

Esther yielded. She did not want to spoil the boys' holiday afternoon, but she did wish that her going with them had not been a condition. Her fears of the Crag and its master did not diminish from the things she heard dropped by older people about the things going on there, now that Mr. Trelawny had an assistant in his experiments. The scientific names she heard spoken sounded terrible in her ears; and she pictured the two men in their gloomy cave, sitting up all the night through pursuing wonderful and mysterious researches, and her books of historical romance, which told of the secret machinations of wizards and magicians, acquired for her a new fascination and a new terror.

The three children started off through the pine woods, but Esther was soon left far behind. The boys clambered hither and thither, rushing about with the inexhaustible energy of children; but Esther's feet lagged wearily, and her small face was pale. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and she pulled off her hat and fanned herself with it, thinking the way to the Crag had never seemed so long before.

Esther's head had taken to aching a good deal of late. At night she could not always sleep. Her lessons seemed to dance before her eyes, and she would dream about them even after she got off to slumber-land.

It had been a great pleasure to Esther to have regular lessons with somebody like Mr. Earle, who could explain everything she wanted to know, and who never reproved her for asking questions; but perhaps the strain of regular work, in addition to that of the two boys in the house and the anxiety she was often in about them and their doings, was rather much for her. At any rate, she had been feeling her head a good deal for the past fortnight, and would so much rather have spent the afternoon quietly at home than have faced first the long walk up the hill and then all the tremors and excitements of the Crag.

But Esther was not accustomed to think first of herself, and she plowed her way bravely upwards, till at last they arrived in front of the grim-looking old house perched upon its crag, and saw the two gentlemen sitting out on the terrace, rather as though waiting for their guests.

The boys gave a whoop and a bound, and dashed towards them. When Esther reached the terrace they were both swarming about Mr. Trelawny like a pair of young monkeys. He was laughing in his rather grim fashion, and Esther heard him saying in his deep voice,—

"No, I won't have that impudence from you, you young jackanapes. If your father lets you behave so, he ought to know better. When I was a boy we were made to respect our elders, and if we couldn't do it, we had to keep it to ourselves. You may call me Uncle Bob, if you like, as my name happens to be Robert; but every time you call me Old Bobby you'll get a good sound box on the ear—so now you understand."

The boys laughed, but they knew perfectly that Mr. Trelawny was in earnest, and that he would be as good as his word. They had found out that from Mr. Earle, who had absolutely forbidden the use of nicknames in school hours, and had insisted that they should speak of Esther by her proper name, and address him as Mr. Earle—a thing that seemed to astonish them not a little.

Out of school hours, however, they considered that they had full liberty of speech, and the next minute Puck exclaimed,—

"Here's Tousle coming along. She didn't want to come a bit. We had to bully her into it. She can't bear the Crag."

A quick flush mounted to Esther's cheek as she heard, and her heart beat fast. How she did wish the boys would not say such things! She didn't seem able to make them understand how terrifying it was for her that Mr. Trelawny should be told of her shrinking from him and his house. Shyness with Esther was like a real physical pain, and she would rather have received a sharp blow than be obliged to face Mr. Trelawny after these words had just been spoken.

He threw the boys from him, and went and took her by the hand.

"Well, little Miss Esther, and how do you do? You are quite a stranger here. We must make you change your opinion of the Crag and its owner. Now you shall tell me what you would like to do and to see, since you are here."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't mind," answered Esther nervously. "I like sitting here and watching the beautiful sea."

"Well, we'll sit here till you have cooled down, and we have drunk our coffee, and then we will see if we can't find something more exciting to amuse ourselves."

A man-servant came out almost immediately, bearing cups of coffee on a tray; and this was very good, with plenty of milk and sugar for the little people. The boys chattered away, and Esther found herself able to sit in a quiet corner and be silent, for if ever Mr. Trelawny asked her a question, Pickle or Puck always broke in with an answer before she could get in a word.

Presently the boys could be quiet no longer.

"Come along and show us things," they cried, getting upon the rails of Mr. Trelawny's chair, and tweaking his thick, grizzled hair. "We know you've got an awful lot of jolly things up here. Come along and show us them. Why, even Tousle hasn't seen half, and she's lived here ever so long."

A smart rap on the knuckles brought Pickle quickly to the ground.

"Speak properly of your cousin whilst you are in my house," said Mr. Trelawny.

"What did I say?" asked Pickle, aggrieved. "Oh, bother! why can't we call people what we like? I think you're a regular old tyrant."

"Well, you needn't come near me unless you like," was the equable response; "but if you do, you'll have to behave yourself. So just you mind that."

The brothers exchanged glances; but it was evidently not diplomatic to quarrel with the master of the house at this juncture, and they felt that in the matter of argument they would get the worst of it with him. So they only made a covert grimace at the back of his head, and said,—

"Come along, then. Show us your house. We want to see all the queer old places we've heard about. Was there once a monk walled up in the cellar? and did you dig out his skeleton? and did his ghost go prowling about tapping on the doors and making groans?"

"Not in my time," answered Mr. Trelawny. "There is a story about the finding of a skeleton down below, though how it came there nobody could say. It was all guess-work.—Come, little Miss Esther; I know you are a historian, and I have some things I think will interest you," and Mr. Trelawny held out his great hand, into which Esther was obliged to slip her little cold fingers, though she felt them trembling all over as she did so.

Mr. Trelawny looked down at her for a moment, but said nothing. The boys dashed hither and thither through the rooms, making remarks and asking questions, which they did not always wait to hear answered. But by and by they got interested in the interesting tales Mr. Trelawny had to tell about the fine old house in which he lived, and even Esther lost her fears for a while in the breathless delight of hearing the story of some of the pictured ladies and armed warriors whose portraits hung upon the walls of the corridors and rooms.

It was later on, when they were taken into the great laboratory at the top of the house, that her fears began to come back. There was a strange smell in the place, and it was full of the queerest things, the very names of which were terrible. Then Mr. Trelawny did some wonderful things with wires and lights; and presently Mr. Earle was sent down into the cave, right at the very bottom of the house, underneath its foundations, and he and Mr. Trelawny passed messages to each other without so much as a speaking-tube or a wire between them, and everything seemed so strange and uncanny that even the boys were quite silent, whilst Esther felt as though she should be stifled in the atmosphere of this weird place.

But the boys were not frightened, though they were greatly astonished at some of the things they saw and heard. Nothing would serve them but that they must go down into the cave again themselves, and see what was going on there; and Esther felt as though her heart would stop beating altogether as she felt her hand grasped by that of this big, terrible wizard, and knew that he was leading her down, down, down into the very heart of the earth.

She dared not resist. His grasp was too strong for that. She was afraid if she angered him he would begin to flash more fire, and perhaps annihilate her altogether. Her teeth chattered in her mouth. Her breath came and went in great gasps. If he had not had such firm hold of her hand, she would almost have fallen.

At all times Esther had a fear of underground places. She had never done more than just peep into a cave before this; and now she was going down, down, down into the very heart of the earth—into that terrible place the boys had told her of, where all sorts of unthinkable horrors were practised, or had been in bygone days, and where, for all she knew, skeletons were still pickling in great tanks. She dared not even think of anything more.

They entered the cave through a sort of trap-door communicating with the house above. The boys were delighted to go by this way. Mr. Earle was there, moving about like a gnome in the gloom; and the voices of the boys, as they cried out their questions, and exclaimed over the strange things they saw, sounded hollow and strange, and went echoing away down the vaulted passages, as though taken up and repeated by half a hundred unseen demons.

The air of the place seemed oppressive and difficult to breathe. The sullen booming of the sea beneath added to the awfulness of the darkness and the horror. Esther threw a few scared glances round her, and felt as though everything was swimming in a mist before her eyes. It seemed as though a cold hand was grasping at her throat, hindering her breath and numbing her limbs.

She knew that she was being walked about from place to place, but she could see nothing and hear nothing plainly. The boys were making the place ring with their shouts and strange calls, and it seemed to her as though the cave were full of dancing forms, and as though she could not breathe any longer.

Then all of a sudden it seemed to get quite dark. The sound of voices died away in her ears. She thought she was left alone in this awful place; perhaps she had been put into one of the tanks. She was suffocating, and could hear nothing but the wild beating of her own heart; and then even that seemed to stop, and she remembered nothing more.

When she opened her eyes again the sun was shining, and it was all warm and bright round her, and somebody had fast hold of her, and was making her feel so comfortable and restful that she did not want to move.

She could not think where she was, but it was certainly out of doors. The wind fanned her brow, and she could see the sky and the sea and a bit of waving fern or tree.

Then there was the sound of a step close by, and suddenly Mr. Earle loomed into view, carrying a glass in his hand, and when his eyes met hers he smiled and said,—

"Ah, that is better!"

And then Esther felt herself lifted up, and saw that it was Mr. Trelawny who was holding her so comfortably. He was sitting on the ground, and she was on his knee, resting against his broad shoulder; and now he bent and looked into her face with a smile, and said,—

"So, so, my little girl; that is better, that is better. Now drink what Mr. Earle has brought you, and you will feel yourself again."

Esther held out her hand obediently, but it shook so much that Mr. Earle would not give the glass into her hand, but knelt down on one knee and held it to her lips. It was not nice medicine at all, and it made her choke and cough when she had swallowed it, but it seemed to warm her all through; and when she had finished the draught she felt able to lift up her head, though it was rather appalling to find herself alone out on the hillside, with only Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle beside her.

She remembered everything now—the terrible cave, the strange sights and sounds there, and that feeling of giddiness and weakness which had come over her. She sat up and looked round her, and then she shivered again a little, for just behind them was a dark gap which she knew must lead into the cave. Were they going to take her back into it again?

Mr. Earle had hold of her hand, and his finger was on the little wrist. He looked into her face with a smile, and asked,—

"What is the matter now?"

"Nothing, thank you, sir."

"You are frightened," he said quietly. "Were you afraid of the darkness in there just now?"

"I—I don't know if it was the darkness exactly. I think it was everything." She made another little movement, and then added wistfully, "Please, may I go home?"

"No hurry," said Mr. Trelawny's big voice just in her ear. "We will go back to my house first, and see what all this means."

And then Esther felt herself lifted bodily in those great, strong arms, and carried baby-fashion up the steep pathway towards the house on the top of the crag.

"O Mr. Trelawny, I'm too heavy to be carried!" she cried.

"You're not half as heavy as you should be. I must know about that too. We've got you a prisoner between us, my little maid, and we shall not let you go till we've——"

Mr. Trelawny stopped suddenly, because Mr. Earle had begun to speak to him in the strange language Esther had heard him use upon another occasion. She shut her eyes tightly, and tried to be brave; but if only she might have gone home by herself! The Crag was a very terrible place to come to.

Even the boys seemed to have disappeared. There was no sign of them about the great, quiet house. Mr. Trelawny carried her into the drawing-room, which did not look as though it were often used, though it was bright and sunny; and he laid her down upon a wide sofa, and took a chair close to her. Mr. Earle stood a little way off, looking out of the window.

If Esther had had the courage to look into the face above her, she would have seen that it was full of a very kindly concern and interest, but she dared not raise her eyes. She felt like a prisoner awaiting sentence, and only wondered whether she would ever be free to run home again.

"Now tell me, child," said Mr. Trelawny's big voice, "what is the matter with my little friend?"

"Nothing, thank you, sir."

"Can't you call me Uncle Robert, like that pair of urchins, who are no kith or kin of mine, though you are? Esther, I was very fond of your father. Won't you try to be a little fond of me? I will be your friend, if you will let me."

She looked up at him then, and her heart beat fast. It was all so very strange and unexpected. She did not know what to say; but she put out her hand and laid it on his, and he smiled and patted it, and said,—

"There, that is better. Now tell me about these headaches of yours. We ought to find a cure for them. Has Mr. Earle been working you too hard?"

Esther felt a thrill run through her again. How was it he knew anything about her headaches? She had not even told her mother, and it never occurred to her that the boys could have spoken the word. Yet, to be sure, once or twice lately she had not cared to join their games because her head ached so badly towards evening. But it was not the lessons. They must not think that. Her lessons were the great pleasure of her life.

"Oh no, no!" she answered earnestly; "indeed it is not that. Please, don't stop the lessons. I do like them so very much."

Mr. Earle came forward then, smiling and saying,—

"I don't want to lose my pupil either, but health comes before pleasure—even before learning."

"I'm sure it isn't the lessons," said Esther again. "Sometimes I think perhaps it's my hair. It makes my head so hot, and at night I can't always sleep."

Mr. Trelawny lifted the heavy mass of curly locks and weighed it in his hand. He looked at Mr. Earle, and they spoke a few words together in the strange tongue.

"Did you ever complain to your mother about your hair?" asked Mr. Trelawny, with a gleam in his deepset eyes.

"Yes," answered Esther, "I often used to ask her if I mightn't have it short like Milly Polperran; but she doesn't like me to tease about it, so I've given it up."

Mr. Trelawny reached out his hand towards a table upon which lay a pair of sharp scissors in a sheath. The gleam in his eyes was deepening. Mr. Earle said something in the foreign tongue, and he answered back in his sharp, decisive way. Esther lay still, wondering; but they were both behind her, and she could not see.

Then came a strange, grating sound close to her head, another, and another; and before she realized what was happening, Mr. Trelawny suddenly laid upon her lap a great mass of waving chestnut hair, exclaiming as he did so,—

"There, my dear! take that home to your mother with my best compliments; and as for me, I shall have to find a new name for little Goldylocks."

Then Esther realized that her hair had been cut off by Mr. Trelawny, and she lay looking at it with thrills of excitement running through her. What would her mother say when she got home? and what would it feel like to be relieved of that great floating mass of hair? How delightful to have no tugging and pulling at the knots morning and night, often when her head was aching and tender, and every pull seemed to hurt more than the last! She must get up and feel what it was like.

So she sat up and passed her hands over her head. Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle were looking at her and laughing. Esther had to laugh too; but how light and cool it felt!

"It is nice!" she exclaimed. "I feel as if I'd got a new head! Oh. I hope mama will not mind much!"

"Look here, sir," said Mr. Earle; "you're not as good a barber as a lady had a right to expect. Give me the scissors, and let me put a more artistic finish to your work. We must send her home looking less like a hearth broom than she does at the present moment."

They all laughed again at that, and the color began to come back into Esther's cheeks. This was something rather exciting, and it had driven away her fears for the time being. She sat quite still whilst Mr. Earle snipped and cut, and walked round and round her, and quarreled with Mr. Trelawny about the proper way of trimming a lady's hair; and in the end they put her upon the sofa, and told her to look at herself in the great mirror opposite. When she did this she began to laugh out loud.

"Will it always stand on end like that?" she asked, for the wave in her hair made it set off from her face and stand round it rather like the aureole round the heads of saints in the church windows. "I don't think Genefer will think it tidy like that. Can't I brush it and make it lie smooth, like Mr. Earle's?"

They got a brush, but the hair set them at defiance, and stood out in its own way. But it was delightful to have no heavy mane hanging down behind. Esther declared her headache almost gone, and so she was allowed to go out and find the boys, who had been set to play by themselves for an hour.

The shrieks of delight they set up at sight of Esther with her cropped head made her laugh and glow like a child; and she looked altogether so much brighter and merrier that the two gentlemen exchanged glances and nodded their heads, as though quite satisfied with the high-handed measure they had taken.

"We shall call you Roundhead now!" cried Puck, dancing round her in an ecstasy of amusement; but Mr. Trelawny came up and took him by the ears, saying in his gruffest way,—

"You will call your cousin by her proper name, or you will never come to my house again. Now, do you understand?"

"Do you mean really?" asked Puck, wriggling away and facing round.

"I mean really and truly," was the emphatic answer. "You've got to learn manners, you two, whilst you are here; and if Mr. Earle knocks some knowledge into your thick skulls, I'll knock a little respect for other people into your democratic little minds. So mind, if you don't behave yourselves properly to your cousin, and speak to her properly too, you'll never have the chance of coming to the Crag again."

CHAPTER VI.
THE SHORN SHEEP.

"I think you ought to come home with us, Uncle Bob, after cutting off Esther's tousle like that. I expect Aunt Saint will be in a jolly old wax."

The children had finished their tea out on the terrace, and a very nice tea it had been. Esther was looking brighter than she had done at first, and a little bit of color had stolen into her face; but her eyes still had a tired look in them, and there were dark marks underneath. Mr. Trelawny paused beside her, and passed his big hands over the cropped head. The touch was kindly, and Esther tried to conquer the little thrill of fear which ran through her. She felt as though she had behaved herself badly at the wizard's house, and that he had been very indulgent to her when he might have been very angry. She could not conquer her old fears all at once; but she resolved to try and mingle some liking with them for this big, strange man, who seemed wishful to be regarded as an uncle.

"What does the shorn sheep say herself about that?" asked Mr. Trelawny, bending down to look into Esther's face.

She made herself return the glance, and said timidly,—

"I think I should be much obliged if you would, Uncle Robert. You would explain to mama better than I can."

A smile lit up the rugged features of the Cornishman.

"To be sure I will then, my dear. I'll take all the blame, which is certainly all mine. I've got a few things I want to say to your mother, so I'll come down now and say them."

So when the shadows had grown a little longer, and the sea was lit up like a sheet of gold, the little party of four started down the hill again, the boys tearing about like a pair of wild animals, Mr. Trelawny following more soberly, holding Esther's hand in his, and helping her over the bits of rough ground; though, as he remarked laughingly, it was "like helping a bit of thistle-down over a hedge."

Mr. Trelawny told Esther a great many interesting things during that walk—things about birds and insects, which she had never known before. He did not frighten her at all the whole way, and when she asked a timid question he always had a full and interesting answer ready.

Then he told her that he had a number of books full of pictures of live creatures in his library, and said she must come up another day and look at them. And though Esther could never think of the Crag without a certain shrinking and fear, yet she did want to see the pictures very much, if only they would not take her into those awful underground places, or into the rooms where all those strange things went on.

When they got home, there was a sound of voices coming from the open drawing-room windows. The boys had rushed headlong in, and now came tumbling out again.

"It's only Mrs. Poll-parrot and Pretty Polly!" cried the pair in a breath; whereupon Mr. Trelawny took the two heads, one in either hand, and knocked them pretty smartly together.

"Mind your manners, boys!" he said in his big gruff voice, and strode on, holding Esther's hand, whilst Pickle and Puck remained behind, staring after him and rubbing their heads with an air of injured innocence.

"He's rather an old beast sometimes, I think," said Puck rather ruefully. "I don't quite like him always."

"He makes us do as he says," added Pickle, "like Mr. Earle—I mean the Owl. I think it's rather interfering of them."

Meantime Mr. Trelawny had entered the window, drawing Esther after him.

"Good evening, madam," he said in his breezy way—"good evening to you all. Mrs. St. Aiden, I have come to make my peace with you. Tell me first what you think of your shorn lamb."

Then he pushed Esther forward, and the child stood before her mother, the color coming and going in her face rather too fast to please Mr. Trelawny, who looked at her from under his bushy brows and shook his head once or twice.

Mrs. St. Aiden gave a little gasp, almost a little scream. Mrs. Polperran stared, and began to laugh; while Prissy cried out in unveiled astonishment,—

"O Esther, your hair, your hair! Where has it gone?"

"Here it is," said Mr. Trelawny, producing a packet wrapped in soft paper, and laying it upon Mrs. St. Aiden's knee. "I daresay some enterprising hairdresser would give a pretty penny for it. Now, Miss Prissy, you run off with your little friend here. I want to talk a little to these good ladies."

Prissy rose, and Esther was glad to escape with her into the garden. It was delightful to have such a cool, comfortable head; but all the talk about herself made her feel hot and shy.

"O Esther!" cried Prissy, "you do look so funny. But I've often heard mother say that it is bad for you having such a great head of hair. What was it made Mr. Trelawny cut it off? Don't you think it was taking a great liberty without your mother's leave?"

"I don't know," answered Esther slowly. "I don't think mama would ever have let him."

The boys came running up now, and the four children were soon well hidden from view in the clipped yew arbor, which was Esther's especial haunt.

"I thought he cut it off to use it in his experiments," said Pickle. "I've read of magicians who took people's hair, and then they used to burn bits of it and make them come to them in their sleep. I expect that's what he's done it for. I expect that you'll often be walking up to the cave in your sleep now."

Esther began shaking at once, but Prissy said, with her grown-up air of reproof,—

"You are talking great nonsense, Philip." (Prissy very often called the boys Philip and Percy, to their own unspeakable disgust.) "There are no magicians now; and besides, it was all nonsense when there were any. And Mr. Trelawny gave Esther's hair back to Mrs. St. Aiden just now. I saw him."

But Pickle wasn't going to be shut up like that.

"I expect he kept some of it back for himself," he said; "and you needn't pretend to know such a mighty lot about Mr. Trelawny and what he can do. If he isn't a magician, he's something uncommonly like it. You should have seen the things he did to-day for us to see; and he'd have done some funnier ones still, only she went and flopped down in a heap on the floor, and then they had to carry her out, and they wouldn't go back any more."

"What did you do, Esther?" asked Prissy.

"I don't know. I felt funny down there, and everything seemed going round, and I didn't know anything about the rest."

"Well, she just spoiled the fun," said Puck. "They were going to show us some things—skeletons in the tanks, I expect, or jolly things like that—but when she went flop they didn't seem to think a bit about us. They hustled us away up to the house, and wouldn't show us anything more. That's always the way when there are girls. They are always sure to spoil the fun."

"I'm very sorry," said Esther penitently, "but I didn't mean to. Only I don't like underground places. They make me feel queer."

"I've heard father speak about Mr. Trelawny's cave," said Prissy. "I don't think he likes it much. Quite a little while ago I heard him say to mother that he was afraid, now Mr. Earle had come, that there might be something horrid happening there. I can't quite remember the words, but he said something like that. And mother said she was afraid he was reckless, and too fond of experiments. I wonder what he does there, and what father is afraid of."

"People always are afraid of magicians and wizards," said Pickle with a sly look of triumph at Prissy; and for a moment she was silent, feeling as though she had been somehow caught in a trap.

"Well, I think he's a very odd sort of man; and I don't think he'd any business to cut off your hair, Esther. Did you know he was going to do it?"

"No, I never thought of such a thing. I only said it made my head hot at nights, or something like that. And then he got a big pair of scissors and cut it all off in a minute."

"I think it looks rather nice like that," said Prissy, with a critical glance, "though it does stand on end rather. I should think you would enjoy not having it combed out at nights."

"I've decided now!" cried Puck, shouting out suddenly the great new idea. "I shall call you Ess now. It'll do for Esther, and for Shorn Sheep too. Old Bobby calls you that himself now, so he can't scold us. You shall be Ess. Don't you think that's a nice, easy, short name?"

Mr. Trelawny was soon seen stalking away up the path towards the Crag, and Mrs. Polperran's voice was heard calling for Prissy. Esther stole back to her mother's side, and asked timidly,—

"You're not vexed with me, mama dear? Indeed I did not know what he was going to do."

"No, dear, I suppose not. It's no use making a trouble of it now it's done. It was certainly a liberty to take; but it's never any use being angry with Mr. Trelawny—he only laughs and makes a joke of it. Besides, he always has looked upon you rather in the light of his ward. Your father did write to him before he died, asking him to give an eye to us, and to take care of us both if we wanted it. I suppose he thinks he has some rights over you; and he has been very kind to us, so we must not say too much."

Esther listened very gravely. She did not know exactly what a ward might be, but she fancied that it made her in some sort the property of the redoubtable Mr. Trelawny. It was rather an alarming notion; but Esther said nothing, for it had been her endeavor all these past months, since her father's death, never to trouble her mother needlessly.

"You should have told me about your headaches, dear," said Mrs. St. Aiden, stroking Esther's hand. "Perhaps we could have cured them then without the sacrifice of your pretty hair."

"O mama, they weren't so very bad. I didn't want to worry you. But I think I shall be much better now without my hair."

"And what made you faint in the cave, dear? You frightened Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle, I think."

Esther thought it had been the other way; but she only said, after a little hesitation,—

"There didn't seem any air down there, and it was all so dark and queer, it made me feel funny; but I didn't know I fainted."

"Well, I have told Mr. Trelawny not to take you there again. I have always had that sort of dislike to caves and underground places myself. Men don't understand that sort of thing; but you had better never go there again, Esther."

"Oh, thank you, mama!" cried Esther earnestly.

It was an immense relief to feel that she need never go back to the cave, and that Mr. Trelawny had been told not to take her there. She could almost face the idea of going up to the Crag to see the books, if she were safe from that terrible place. Things seemed suddenly to be brighter and happier altogether. Esther was quite lively that evening; and as Genefer brushed the shorn head at night she remarked,—

"Well, Miss Esther, it's made a good bit of difference to your looks; but I always did say to the missus that it was a pity to let you grow such a mane of hair now. Very likely you would have had it grow thin and poor as you grew up; but if you keep it cropped short for a few years, you'll have a nice head of hair when you're a young lady and want it again."

On Sunday afternoon Milly and Bertie Polperran came to the Hermitage to spend the time with their little friends there, as on Saturday they had not met.

Prissy taught a little class in the Sunday school; but Milly and Bertie were free, only that they had some little verses and part of a hymn to learn, and they had leave to say them to Esther to-day.

Esther had been rather exercised in her mind about the fashion in which Pickle and Puck spent their Sundays. They went to church in the morning with her, and kept her pretty much on tenter-hooks all the time, although they had never done anything very outrageous so far. But their eyes always seemed everywhere, and nothing escaped their observation; and they would giggle in a subdued yet sufficiently audible fashion, if anything amused them, and sometimes try to make Esther or their little friends opposite join them in their ill-timed hilarity.

After having been to church, they seemed to consider that for them Sunday had ended, and they played about and amused themselves just as they pleased.

"Crump always played with us on Sunday afternoons," they would say when Esther suggested something more quiet and decorous, according to her ideas. They did not seem to understand why they should be more quiet on Sunday than on any other day, and it was not quite easy for Esther to explain.

"They must have been badly brought up," Prissy would say in her prim, grown-up fashion. "I think their father must be a very strange sort of man." But when Esther spoke to Genefer, she was a little comforted by hearing her say,—

"You see, Miss Esther, the poor little boys have had no mother to teach them, and gentlemen don't think of things quite like mothers. I don't think they mean to be naughty a bit, but they've not been taught as you have. Perhaps they'll get into better ways living here for a spell. But it's no good preaching at them. That'll never do it. You only get at children by making them love you. Then they like the things you like, and they learn different ways. They're getting fond of you, Miss Esther, my dear. They'll begin to copy you by and by, whether they know it or not."

Esther did not think Pickle and Puck had much notion of copying anybody; but she thought they were growing fond of her in a fashion, and she was certainly growing fond of them. If they brought new anxiety into her life, they brought a considerable amount of pleasure and variety too. She did not at all regret the arrangement, although she wished the boys had been just a little younger, so that she might have had more influence over them.

"We're going to have a Sunday school, and you're to teach!" cried Milly, running up to Esther as she sat in the yew arbor, thinking that the four little ones would rather be alone together. "We've learned our lessons, and Pickle and Puck have learned something, too; and now we're going to come and be a class, and you're to teach us."

There was plenty of room in the summer-house for the class; and a chair was set for Esther, whilst her four scholars occupied the fixed bench that ran round the arbor. They came in with looks of decorous gravity, and the boys pulled their forelocks, and Milly made a courtesy, whilst Esther felt half-embarrassed at so much respect and deference.

The little Polperrans repeated their lessons with the readiness of those accustomed to such tasks. Pickle followed with a fair show of fluency; and Puck said a short text with great deliberation, prompted from time to time by Milly, who had evidently "coached" him up in it.

At the close he looked up into Esther's face and asked with due solemnity, evidently put up to the right phraseology by either Bertie or Milly,—

"Please, teacher, what is the sin that so easily besets us?"

There was a faint giggle from Bertie; but Puck had thrown himself into his part, and was as solemn as a judge. Esther was a little embarrassed at the position in which she found herself, but she strove to find a suitable answer.

"I think it's different things with different people," she said after a pause. "You know some people are naughty in some ways, and some in others. We don't all sin alike."

Pickle here broke in eagerly,—

"Let's think of the naughty things people do. Mr. Trelawny cut off your hair yesterday without asking leave. Wasn't that a sort of sin?"

Esther was rather taken aback at this method of treating the subject; but before she had found words in which to reply, the boy had broken out again,—

"I tell you what I think it is—the sin that so easily besets him is doing just as he likes, and being what Crump calls 'lord high everything.' Don't you think that's Uncle Bob's sin, Ess?"

Esther looked straight at Pickle, and answered with some spirit,—

"I know somebody else who always wants to do as he likes, and cares very little what other people say or think."

Pickle looked suddenly taken aback.

"My stars!" he exclaimed.

Bertie pointed one finger at Pickle and another at Puck. His square face was bubbling over with a subdued sense of humor.

"She means you," said Puck: "I know she does. It's just what you're always saying. You do what you like, and don't care what people say. If it's a sin, it's your sin too."

"Oh dear!" cried Pickle, really interested now; "I never thought of that before. Did you mean that, Ess?"

Esther's face was rosy red now; she spoke truthfully, however.

"I think I did, Pickle. You know you do like your own way. But I think we all like that. I suppose that's one of the sins that easily besets us all."

"I don't think it besets you," said Pickle loyally; "you're always doing things you don't like, to spare other people, or because they want you to."

"It besets Prissy!" cried Milly eagerly; "she always wants her own way. She likes to be 'lord high everything' too. She's been as cross as two sticks lately, because Bertie and I have kept secrets from her, and she can't do just as she likes with us."

But Esther did not think this a very profitable turn to the talk, and she said slowly and rather shyly,—

"I don't think we need bother about other people's sins. It would be better to leave these alone, I think, and just to try and find out our own. If we know what they are, perhaps we can get over them; but if we don't know them, we shall never fight against them properly."

"There's some sense in that!" cried Pickle eagerly. "There was a picture I once saw on a church window of a man fighting with a dragon. I asked the old verger what it meant, and he said it was what all of us had to do some time or other. I didn't know what he meant, but Crump told me he meant that we all had to fight against sins, only they weren't live green dragons with red eyes and crinkly wings now; and we didn't always know when one was trying to get the best of us, but we'd got to try and be ready to fight. I suppose that's the sort of thing you mean, Ess? We've got to find out what our sins are. Let's have a think about it now. I don't mind fighting, if I only know what to fight."

"I'd like it to be a green dragon with red eyes," said Puck; "there'd be some sense in that."

"Well, but if there aren't any dragons left, we have to do it the other way," cried Pickle eagerly. "Now, let's think about it. We'll all think. At least I don't think Esther needs. I don't think she's got any sins."

"O Pickle, don't say that!"

"Well, I don't think you have. You're always good. Look at the marks you get; and the Owl has never had to scold you once. I don't believe you could think of any sin that besets you."

"Yes, indeed I can," answered Esther—"ever so many. I've got one in my head this very minute."

"What's that? Do tell."

Esther's face grew red, but she answered bravely,—

"Yes, I'll tell you if you like, because, perhaps, if I tell, I shall be able to fight it better. I'm often so frightened about things nobody else is."

The children eyed her wonderingly.

"But I don't call that a sin," cried Pickle. "You can't help being frightened—you're a girl."

"Yes, but I don't think girls ought to be cowards," answered Esther, her face still flushed. "I want to learn to be brave. I think being afraid when there isn't any reason is a sort of sin." She paused and hesitated, and then added in a lower voice, "I think we ought to remember that God can always take care of us, and then we need not be afraid any more."

The children were silent for a few minutes. Something in Esther's manner impressed them, they hardly knew why. They felt that she was speaking to them out of the depths of her heart, and that she meant every word she said.

"Do you ever think about God?" asked Pickle at last.

"Yes," answered Esther in a low voice, "but not as often as I ought to. I shouldn't be so frightened often, if I thought about Him more."

"Why? What difference would it make?"

"Oh, don't you see? Suppose you were frightened by something, and felt all alone, with nobody to help you. And then suppose you remembered that your father was looking at you all the time through a window somewhere with a glass, and that he saw you though you didn't see him. And if you knew that he could send somebody to help you if you wanted it really, why, you wouldn't be afraid any more, would you?"

"No, I suppose not. It would be silly."

"I think, perhaps, it is silly; and what is silly can be a sin, I think," said Esther steadily. "I want not to be frightened so often, and I think that is the sin that most easily besets me. I am going to try and fight against it, because it makes me forget about God always seeing us and taking care of us, and that is wrong, I know."

"I wonder what my sin is!" cried Pickle. "I expect I've got a lot. Esther, do you think it's a sin to call people by nicknames? Old—I mean Uncle Robert makes a great fuss about it."

"I—I don't think it's perhaps the names exactly," said Esther, with a little hesitation—"at least not amongst ourselves. But to older people it doesn't seem quite respectful, and children ought to treat older people with respect. I think it says so in the Bible somewhere. I'm sure it means it often. You know that even Jesus was obedient, and 'subject to' Joseph and Mary, though He was God's Son all the time."

"We don't mean any harm," said Puck. "Crump used only to laugh, and call us cheeky little beggars."

"Well," said Esther, with a little gentle decision in her tone, "I don't think it sounds at all nice for little boys to speak of their father as Crump."

"Don't you, really? Do you mean you would call it a sin?"

"I don't know whether I am old enough to judge about that," answered Esther, "but it doesn't seem to me like honoring our fathers and mothers to speak of them like that, and that would be disobeying one of the commandments."

"Well, I never thought of it like that," said Pickle, in the tone of one open to conviction; "but I don't mind giving that up, if it is a sort of a sin. I did sometimes think that when people were there Cr—I mean father—didn't always quite like it. But I'm sure we must have lots of sins besides that. That's only quite a little one."

"I'm greedy; that's my sin," said Bertie. "I always want the biggest egg or the nicest cake. I don't always get them, but I want them. I shall have to fight against that."

"I don't like getting up in the morning," said Milly; "and I get cross with Prissy often; and I hate my sums, and scribble on my slate instead of doing them. I think I'm lazy, for I'm always so glad when we can't do lessons, or visitors come when I'm practising. And sometimes I don't practise all my time, but run out into the garden for a little while, if nobody is about, and pretend I've been at the piano all the time. I don't mean I say so, because nobody asks me; but I pretend it to myself, and I suppose that's a sort of lie."

"I sometimes tell stories," said Puck. "I say I've done things and seen them, and I haven't really—at least not just as I say them. I like to pretend things are bigger than they are, and that we're braver, and stronger, and cleverer."

"And I like to do just as I like," said Pickle, remembering how the conversation had begun. "I don't like Mr. Earle when he interferes, and makes us do things his way; and I get in a rage sometimes because he sees through us and stops the things we want to do. I think I've got a lot of sins—more than any of the rest of you. I'm the eldest, and so I suppose I should have. At least Esther's older; but then she's good. I don't call it a sin to be afraid. Girls and women are made that way. It's much worse to be always wanting your own way, and not caring for anything or anybody so long as you get it."

Pickle had faced the flaw in his character or training with a good deal of candor, although, perhaps, there was a touch of pride in the feeling that he had a bigger sin to battle with than anybody else.

Esther's voice was now heard saying gently,—

"Then if we all know what is the sin that so easily besets us, we ought to be able to fight against it better, and to help one another to fight too. I think it would be nice to help each other when we can. There is something somewhere about bearing one another's burdens. I should think that would be the same sort of thing."

"And let's have a Sunday school rather often," said Milly, "and tell each other how we're getting on. I should like to know if Esther stops being afraid of things; and I'll tell how often I've been lazy at lessons, or have got angry with Prissy. Now and then I'm angry with mother too"—here Milly's face got very red—"and sometimes I say naughty things to her very softly, because I know she doesn't hear them. I think that's quite a sin—don't you, Esther?"

The sound of the tea-bell broke up the Sunday school at that moment, and the children trooped to the house, where Genefer had a nice tea waiting for them in the dining-room.

That night she remarked to her little charge how well-behaved they had all been that Sunday afternoon.

Esther's face grew rather rosy as she answered,—

"Yes, we are all going to try to be good, and fight our sins. But, Genefer, I wanted to tell them that we must ask Jesus to help us, and I didn't quite know how to say it, and so I didn't. I think it's very hard to be really brave."

"You'll get braver as you get older, Miss Esther," said the woman sympathetically, "and the little folks will soon find out that they want help for their bits of battles, and you can talk about how that's to be had another time."

"I—yes, I will try," said Esther earnestly. "I hope I shall grow braver, and then it will be less hard."