Part 3

"Oh, my dear--it isn't. Not nearly three miles even from Bell Bay. What are you thinking of? I don't believe we are a mile from the Beak. It's nothing of a row. Just look----"

Christobel looked. First at the big headland, then at Adrian, who had made no comment.

Pamela went on explaining her plan.

"Suppose you make a little tack in towards Ramsworthy and the lighthouse. That will bring us quite near the easiest side of the Beak. Then Hughie can come with me. I'll land him and he can go up the sloping part into Ramsworthy, over Hawksdown, and into Bell Bay as quick as he likes--how far is it? Only about a mile and a half. _I_'ll row the dinghy along the shore. We'll just see which of us gets back first, won't we, Hughie?"

"_I_ shall," answered the small person without hesitation.

"Depends on the tide," said Pamela, "if it turns pretty quick, I shall."

"My young friends, you are both in error," Adrian stretched amazingly as he spoke, "we shall--if the tide turns. You others won't have a look in."

"Well, if you do, you can pick up the moorings and wait for me to fetch you off. And anyway Mother will see you from the windows so she will be comfortable, and everybody will be comfortable," was Pamela's conclusion of the whole matter, as she got up.

Christobel was not satisfied, though she had acted on the suggestion of a tack in the direction of Ramsworthy Cove, to the right of the Beak head--looking at it from the sea.

"I don't like to think of you and Hughie going ashore--all that way--alone," she said.

"Crow, you are hatching difficulties," retorted Pamela, "what else can we do? If Addie puts us ashore he'll have to leave you. Ought you to be left all alone on the yawl? What do you think, Addie?"

Adrian cut the Gordian knot by a new division of labour and a very decided opinion.

"Mother wouldn't like you and Hughie to go home--I mean, go ashore, from here--by yourselves. We know she wouldn't, so it's no use arguing. I vote Pam stays aboard with Crow while I put Hughie ashore at Ramsworthy Cove. Hughie can cut away home over Hawksdown, and race us, because the tide's turning already. When I've put him out I'll come back here. That's all about it, come on, youngster."

Pamela was disappointed, but she said nothing. A sailing boat in a calm is deadly dull most certainly, and Pamela objected strongly to dullness and monotony. Her inquiring mind was always seeking new interests, and she loved surprises--she was always trying to surprise herself, in small ways. The idea of rowing Hughie ashore and then going along round the headland to Bell Bay had appealed to her desire for adventure. However--of course Adrian was right, Mrs. Romilly would not have been pleased at such an independent excursion on the part of her younger children.

The dinghy started, and the mile of sea between lazily floating _Messenger_ and the shadowy bay beyond the lighthouse point was quickly crossed. Adrian came back as quickly, and, as he sprang aboard and bent to tie up the tow rope, announced that the tide was flowing strongly.

"Wind or no wind," he said, "we shall get back before old Hughie. What a rum thing it is how that always happens. As long as you wait--you don't get it. Start doing something else, and there you are! Moral is--never wait. Always do something else. May as well tack, Crow--here's the wind too; breeze getting up with the tide of course!"

So the white yawl, leaning over very gently, gathered speed, and skimming through the smooth placid sea, made two tacks and picked up her moorings easily in half an hour.

The interest of this event is--what happened to Hughie, the human messenger.

Hughie, silent at all times, and almost as keen an observer as his sister Pamela, said nothing when this arrangement was made. At the same time he was well pleased to be put ashore with the responsibility of this small excursion upon his own shoulders. It was an adventure, and to Hughie, whose imagination was riotous, it might lead into all kinds of strange happenings.

Adrian landed him in the tiny cove beyond the great headland, on the point of which was a kind of fortress, walled and powerful--the barricaded strength of the lighthouse, which faced Atlantic gales through weather indescribable.

Outward and inner walls were white; all the low strong buildings were white, and the tower itself stood at the outer guard, smooth, round, and amazingly strong. Looking up at this as they rowed in Hughie felt a thrill--next to being a sailor like his father, he would have wished to be a lighthouse man--but this was a secret.

In the steep little cove lay the scattered bones of an old ship; weed grew in the staring ribs, and the massive keel was sunk deep into the sand. This was nothing new. The wreck had been there many years; it was that kind of thing that made Government build such a lighthouse. The Beak in old days had been one of the most relentless murderers of all the western headlands.

"There you are, old chap. Cut along home now, and tell Mother we'll be there before you," instructed Adrian as he pushed off, looking behind him as he went.

Hughie nodded, picked his way over the strewn wreckage, and went up the broken sloping steep at the back of the cove till he reached the road on the top. This went from the small village, Ramsworthy, over Hawksdown--which was the bare lovely height on the moor above the lighthouse--and down into Bell Bay. Several roads branched off; one went along the point to the lighthouse settlement; one led away back across Ramsworthy moor to the station at Five Trees. Yet another went to Clawtol, the Ensors' farm, and on past that and the principal lodge of Crown Hill to join the main road from Salterne.

This was the way Pamela's mysterious motor-car should have come, had it been behaving in a reasonable manner.

Hughie ran and walked alternately till he reached the top of Hawksdown. Then he stopped to look round. The sun was dipping into the sea--far, far out. Here and there upon the sea was a sailing vessel, looking like a painted toy. Not distant a great way from the lighthouse was the _Messenger_, a glistening model of perfection, with her white sails drawing on this new breeze that rippled the water.

Hughie, gazing at the straining sail and the ripple, saw that they would get home first if he waited, so he started off at a trot, making quite straight across the moorland for the drop into Bell Bay between Penberthy's cottage and the Crown Hill gate. It was the shortest way home.

The sun had gone into the sea, and a purply shadow was creeping over the land--the whole world was a happy hunting ground for adventures, and Hughie would have asked nothing better than to follow one of the farm tracks and go on till he met something surprising. At the crossroad to Clawtol Farm he paused, and looked along it because it was pretty. It dipped away from the high pitch of the moor and went down and down between banks covered with gorse and heather. It was sheltered as well as pretty, and was one way to Bell Bay, of course, though roundabout.

Hughie, stopping to look along this road, saw something immensely surprising--about the last thing he dreamed of--indeed a dragon or a giant would have been less astonishing, because he was always expecting creatures of that kind. What he saw was his sister Pamela. She was walking rather slowly between the gorsy banks in the direction of Clawtol Farm. Even as he looked, she paused, went up the left-hand bank two steps, picked some flower, jumped back into the road, and walked slowly on.

Hughie stared at this vision. At first in unbelief; then with a rapid calculation of time; then in amaze. It certainly was Pam; but she must have been amazingly quick to get up there, though it was possible--well, of course it was possible, because there she was! His mind reviewed rapidly the idea that Addie must have gone back very quickly and taken Pam off at once, and put her ashore on the home side of the Beak--you could climb it, but it was an awful bit of cliff. Altogether that explanation did not appeal to a reasoning mind. Then he remembered the ripples on the sea, and the straining mainsail of the yawl as she gathered speed on the homeward track. Of course that must be it. The _Messenger_ had picked up her moorings and they had put Pam ashore to come up and meet him, while they stowed the sails. That was what would have been done--supposing they reached home first. Hughie concluded that he must have taken too much time over his journey--it was a most annoying conclusion to arrive at. Hughie shouted with vigour:

"Pam--I say--_Pam_!" and then stayed to watch the effect.

The tall, slim figure in neat skirt and jumper--such as Hughie connected with both his sisters--went on at a steady pace. It seemed that the headgear was a cap of the tam-o'-shanter kind. Pamela had one undoubtedly, but her small brother could not quite remember whether she had been wearing it this afternoon. Most likely she had. Anyway, the long, thick plait of polished hair was very obvious, hanging to the waist-line and below.

"Pam!" he shouted again, with greater energy.

The girl checked. She looked up and round, but not back. She seemed by the movements of her head to be listening.

"Hullo-o-o!" hailed Hughie, with force.

Pamela stood still with a startled pull-up, and turned round and glanced behind her. Hughie was conscious of surprise at the way she did it. He could not have explained clearly perhaps what it was that shocked him just a little in his sister's manner. His feeling was instinctive only.

She acted in a _guilty_ manner.

Now this sort of thing was not only foreign to Pamela, but to the entire Romilly family. They did unexpected and independent things at times, of course--and explained afterwards. They did not do things they were ashamed to own up to, which was what Pamela appeared to be guilty of at this moment. Hughie flushed at the thought of it. Why was she running away; why wouldn't she make a sign?

He raised an arm, waved it round his head and started to catch her. She seemed to hesitate. Then she also distinctly made a gesture of the hand, and ran too. Away from him--in the direction of Clawtol.

Hughie had not a chance when Pamela ran. He knew that by long experience. His sister was a real "sprinter"; her long legs, light body, and excellent "wind" left him nowhere every time. At the same time he had no intention of giving in, though he was angry. It was a mean thing to do; especially after she had seen him and answered his wave.

He ran on steadily, though he knew the distance between them must be increasing fast, till he came in sight of Clawtol ricks and roofs, and the hedge-row fencing that began at the turn of the road. The dog was barking monotonously in that maddening way tied-up dogs do bark when anything interests them, and Hughie reasoned that the dog had heard Pamela run by along the road.

He stopped at the gate to see if there was a person about, and became interested in the distant doings of Mrs. Ensor, who was trying to induce several families of chickens--thoroughly mixed up among themselves--to go to bed in correct parties. The open coops stood in a row; Hughie looked through the gate, as it was a high one, and observed the manoeuvres.

Mrs. Ensor was a short, dark woman, with pretty eyes and a distinct moustache. Besides the moustache she owned six little boys, in ages ranging from eight down to eighteen months. This last--an important member of the Ensor family--was staggering about among the rebellious chickens, like them, he had no particular bed-time, and fought against it whenever it was decreed. As Hughie watched, drawn away from his intention of questioning Mrs. Ensor about Pam, a small pig charged through the melee, upset the Ensor baby, scattered the chickens and caused an uproar that brought more little Ensors to the scene of action.

One of these saw Hughie, and pulled his mother's skirt to make her notice the visitor. Hughie therefore pushed open the gate, and advanced rather gingerly, because the noise was deafening and Mrs. Ensor was shaking the baby--as an example to its brothers of what happens when people are naughty enough to fall over a pig.

"Mother," urged Reube Ensor, who was six, and very small, "here be Master Hughie."

The tumult ceased as by magic, and Mrs. Ensor advanced to meet her visitor, with the baby surprised into silence.

Hughie shook hands politely. Then he asked if his sister had just been to the farm.

"I thought I saw her," he explained, "she was in the road, and I thought she might have come up for eggs."

This idea had occurred to him when he saw the hen-coops as a very possible explanation for Pamela's conduct. Her gesture to him might have meant that she was going on to Clawtol Farm in a hurry.

Mrs. Ensor had not seen anybody. Miss Pamela had not called for eggs. She turned to the row of listening little boys and demanded of them, "had anybody seen Miss Pamela?"

There was a certain amount of whispering and nudging, from which the farmer's wife seemed to gather that Pamela had been seen. It was "young Reube" who volunteered information, twisting his cap round and round in very small nervous hands.

Hughie looked at him with shy sympathy. He liked Reube, but could not explain why.

"Did you see my sister?" he asked gravely.

"Yes, I seen the young lady," admitted Reube.

"Where did she go?" asked Hughie again.

"She went down along Crown Hill. She was running."

That was all Reube said, or knew apparently. As he gave this answer he looked from Hughie to his mother with a puzzled expression which neither interpreted to mean anything but shyness.

"I think I'd better go home now, Mrs. Ensor," said the visitor rather ceremoniously. "I shall be rather late for our tea, shan't I? I expect my sister has gone to Crown Hill to see Miss Ashington, so I shan't go that way--it's much longer."

Mrs. Ensor and family--with an inquisitive escort of chickens and little pigs--came to the gate with Hughie and let him out.

"Good-night, Mrs. Ensor," said Hughie, and lifted his cap with precision.

Young Reube stood in the background with a troubled expression on his small dark face. After Hughie was gone he ran about and drove chickens into coops, but all the while there was a sense of confusion in his mind, because he had no power to explain--words do not come easily when you are six!

Hughie raced back along the road to the top of Hawksdown. From there it was not very far to the drop of the hill down into Bell Bay. At a turn he came in full view of the lovely cove, and paused to look for the white yawl. There she was on her moorings. Sails stowed too, and he could see someone getting out of the dinghy on to the big flat rock where they usually landed. There was not enough light for him to distinguish persons, but seeing the _Messenger_ was safely back home nothing else mattered.

He took to his heels and ran headlong down the steep road, past the lodge gate of the cove road. To Crown Hill, round the corner, down, and down, till he came to the sea-wall and gardens of the Bell House; and as he ran he became increasingly angry, which was a rare state of mind with Hughie. He considered himself swindled. He had been put ashore on purpose to carry a message, and had felt the importance of the trust.

It was a small thing that the yawl should be home first, though, as he had seen the dinghy coming ashore that would not have happened had he not been tricked into turning aside by Pamela.

The thing was distinctly unfair. Pamela, his partner in many interesting episodes, had gone back on him in this, she had treated him meanly and put him in a silly position.

*CHAPTER IV*

*In which Pam Makes a Move*

The first thing people said to Hughie was, of course, "What a long time you were!" It was exactly what he expected, and he felt extremely bitter about it.

There was supper on this night, everybody was hungry, and they had so much to tell Mrs. Romilly about the events of the day that no more than that comment was made at the moment.

Mrs. Romilly had not been anxious. She had observed the calm, had guessed the tides, and simply given orders that "high tea" would be supper. She was rejoiced that this first attempt had been a success, but decided that her youngest son was tired out--he was so silent. She remembered the climb out of Ramsworthy Cove, the walk over Hawksdown--thought of the long day of hot calm--and put no questions at all about it. Indeed she diverted those that the rest of the crew would have asked.

Pamela, as usual, came in rather late. Hughie looked at her. She sat down, saw him, and said:

"I saw you running down the hill, aren't you hot, poor Midget? It is stuffy as thunder, Mummy, and the wind is coming in little puffs over Bell Ridge; presently there'll be a row--we shall hear the thunder tanks come wheeling along over our heads! I _am_ hot!"

Hughie decided she had been running also. But he felt this was not the time or place to go into the question. He ate his supper in silence, and matured a telling and desperate plan for paying his sister back. He would ignore her presence. He would not say good-night to her.

Thus when bed-time came, Hughie, busy as usual with some infinitely small carpentering work connected with his latest boat, got up, put away his tiny blocks, pulleys, and fine cord, and went to kiss his mother. She was making sails for him--perfect sails with amazingly neat reefing knots and cord-stiffened edges. Nobody could make model boat-sails like Mrs. Romilly.

"Oh, Mum----" said Hughie very low, and smiled.

"Tired boy," answered 'Mum', also smiling, "go to bed and go to sleep, and don't wake till eight."

Hughie said good-night to Adrian, Christobel, and the Floweret; then he went off to bed, deliberately missing out Pam.

Nobody thought about it but Pam herself. The others were all busy, Addie and Crow playing chess and too much absorbed, the Floweret reading the newspaper to Mrs. Romilly. Pamela, very intently taking notes from her precious handbook, had turned her head ready for Hughie's kiss. He always kissed her as well as his mother. But Hughie walked down the room with short quick steps, opened the door, shut it very softly, and was gone.

This action was in no way lost on his sister. She not only saw it all, but she realized that it was a case of extreme measures on Hughie's part, and made up her mind to get to the bottom of the business.

Pamela's bedroom was a small one at the end of the house, and it looked out over the sea-wall and into the rocky cove. Hughie's room was a pair to it, farther along the little cross passage that barred the end of the long corridor down the centre of the house. Hughie's window looked the same way as Pamela's, and they were exactly alike--strong casements, deep window seats, with a view passing description for peace and beauty.

At nine o'clock Pam went up to bed; but she walked by her own door, to Hughie's, and without knocking, opened it softly and went in.

A young clear moon was rising up the purple sky, and there was light enough to show any movements, especially as the blind was up. The owner of the room was in bed, and no doubt ought to have been asleep, but the excitements already narrated had kept him awake--combined with the expectation of a visit from his sister.

He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. Pamela closed the door gently, came to the foot of the bed, and leaning her crossed arms on the brass foot, said:

"What's the matter, Midget?"

Hughie was not the sort of person to pretend he did not know what she was thinking of. He retorted by another question.

"Why didn't you stop when I called you, Pam?"

"Called me! Where? When?"

"On the top of Hawksdown--where the road goes to Clawtol," said Hughie.

"But _when_?"

"Why, this evening, when I was coming home, of course."

There was a pause. Pamela seemed to be thinking deeply. Hughie made use of the interval to sit up in bed--indeed he sat on his pillow, holding the small pyjama-clad ankles of his crossed legs in either hand. He looked very much like an enlarged soapstone figure of an Indian god.

After a sufficiently long pause to make Hughie feel sure his sister was very guilty in the matter, Pamela said:

"What was I doing?"

"I should think you ought to know," answered Hughie coldly.

"No, but tell me. I want to know just what you saw."

Hughie complied.

"So I waved--when I'd called; and you looked back and put up your hand. And then you ran away. I ran too, but I couldn't catch you--I never can--you know that perfectly well," he concluded.

He could see his sister's face quite plainly in the moonlight. She was frowning with a sort of puzzled intentness, and her keen features looked very sharp. Hughie, quick as she to observe, began to explain further. He told how he went to Clawtol, and how he inquired from Mrs. Ensor and her family.

"And Reube said he'd seen you," he ended.

"Reube said he'd seen _me_," echoed Pamela, "are you sure, Midget?"

Hughie considered; then he repeated carefully:

"Mrs. Ensor said 'did you see the young lady?' and Reube said 'yes'."

"Ah!" breathed Pamela, low, to herself. Then she left her position at the bed foot, and moved about the room in a restless silent fashion, her eyes on the ground. At last she came to a stand by the window.

Hughie made no remark; his eyes followed her, and he was much interested; there was plainly something on foot not understandable at first.

"How was I--she--dressed?" asked Pamela suddenly.

"Oh, your usual things--what you had on the boat," said Hughie vaguely.

"Brown shoes and stockings?" Pam demanded.

Hughie thought about it. Then he said he couldn't see so far.

"But I saw your pigtail hanging down. There was a bit of light on it, and it shone."

Pamela went back to the foot of the bed, and leaned there.

"Look here, Hughie," she said seriously, "if I say a thing you'd believe me, wouldn't you?"

Hughie gripped his ankles with either small brown hand and gazed back at her thoughtfully.

"I should _believe_ you--if you said a true thing," he said.

"Well, I'm going to say a true thing. The girl you saw wasn't me--I mean, I."

"Oh!" said Hughie, "who was she, then?"

"I don't know any more than you do, but I'd venture to bet a shilling that she's the same girl Mollie Shard saw. Don't you remember when Mollie said she saw _me_, out by Mainsail Cottage on Tuesday morning. Well, I wasn't."

"Oh," murmured Hughie again--then, "I remember what Mollie said, but why didn't you say it wasn't you, Pam?"

"I was thinking about something rather queer that I saw myself; kind of adding them together."

"What did you see yourself?"

Pamela did not answer this question at once, her mind was searching round for points, at last:

"One thing is plain;" she said, "there's a girl about who looks like me; but goodness knows who she is, or where she comes from. Look here, Hughie, will you keep your eyes open--now you know. I'll try and follow it up too, and I promise I'll tell you what I find out even if I don't tell other people."

"I see. Yes, all right, Pam," agreed the Midget with dignity. As a matter of fact he was really not quite sure whether he did see. It was all rather startling; why should there be a girl exactly like Pam--and with the same pigtail even? However, there it was. He had said he would believe what his sister told him.

"Well, good-night, Hughie; we shall see what happens next," said Pamela. She was not laughing at all, her face wore the same keen look. "And remember you promised not to say one word to a living soul, whatever happens."

"All right. I promise. Good-night, Pam," and Hugh raised his face to be kissed rather meekly. He felt as though all this was rather serious.