XIII
When the girls went into their room after breakfast to put on their hats and scrambling shoes, they saw Graeme sitting on the low stone wall, as usual, smoking his after-breakfast pipe, and they caught a part of the conversation in progress between him and Johnny Vautrin.
"I see five crows 's mawnin'," they heard in Johnnie's sepulchral voice.
"Really, now! Catch any?"
"There wuss five crows."
"Ah—five? That's an odd number! And what special ill-luck do you infer from five crows, Johnnie?"
"Someone's goan to be sick," said Johnnie, with joyous anticipation.
"Dear me! That's what five crows mean, is it?"
"Ouaie!"
"They didn't go into particulars, I suppose,—as to who it is likely to be, for instance, and the exact nature of the seizure?"
"They flew over to church there and settled in black trees."
"Vicar, maybe, since they went that way."
"Mebbe!"—hopefully.
"Well, well! Perhaps if we gave him a hint he might take some precautions."
"Couldn' tek nauthen 'd be any use 'gainst crows. Go'zamin, they knows!"
"You're just a confirmed old croaker, Johnnie."
"A'n't!" said Johnnie.
"Where's our old friend Marielihou?"
"She's a-busy," said Johnnie, wriggling uncomfortably.
"Ah,—killing something, I presume. Is it going to keep fine for the next three or four weeks?"
"I don' think."
"You don't, you little rascal?"
"You might do your best for us, Johnnie," said Miss Penny, as they came through the gap in the wall. "And if it keeps fine all the time I'll give you—let me see, I'll give you a shilling when we go away."
Johnnie's avidious little claw reached out eagerly.
"Godzamin!" said he. "Gimme it now, an' I'll do my best."
"Earn it, my child," said Miss Penny, and they went on up the road, leaving Johnnie scowling in the hedge.
"Well, where would you like to go to-day?" asked Graeme. "Will you leave yourselves in my hands again?"
"I'm sure we can't do better," said Miss Penny heartily. "Yesterday was a day of days. What do you say, Meg?"
"It looks as though we were going to occupy a great deal of Mr. Graeme's time," said Meg non-committally.
"It could not possibly be better occupied," he said exuberantly.
"And how about your story, Mr. Graeme? Is it at a standstill?" asked Miss Penny.
"Not at all. It's getting on capitally."
"Why, when do you work at it?"
"Oh,—between times, and when the spirit moves me and I've got nothing better to do."
"Is that how one writes books?"
"Sometimes. How do you feel about caves?"
"Ripping! If there's one thing we revel in it's caves, principally because we know nothing about them."
"Then we'll break you in on Grève de la Ville. They're comparatively easy, and another day we'll do the Boutiques and the Gouliots. Then we can get a whole day full of caves by going round the island in a boat—red caves and green caves and black caves and barking-dog caves—all sorts and conditions of caves—caves studded all round with anemones, and caves bristling with tiny jewelled sponges. Sark is just a honeycomb of caves."
"Spiffing!" said Miss Penny. "If Mr. Pixley gets on our track we'll play hide-and-seek in them with him."
"Then we ought to spend a day on Brecqhou—"
"A day on Brecqhou without a doubt!"
"And if we can get the boat from Guernsey to call for us at the Eperquerie, and can get a boat there to put us aboard, we might manage Alderney."
"Sounds a bit if-fy, but tempting thereby. Margaret, my dear, our work is cut out for us."
"And Mr. Graeme's cut out from him, I'm afraid."
"Oh, not at all, I assure you. It's going ahead like steam," and they began to descend into Grève de la Ville, the dogs as usual ranging the cliff-sides after rabbits, disappearing altogether at times and then flashing suddenly into view half a mile away among the gorse and bracken.
Sark scrambling requires caution and constant asistance from the practised to the unpractised hand, and Graeme omitted none of the necessary precautions. Whereby Margaret's throbbing hand was much in his,—so, indeed, was Miss Penny's, but that was quite another matter,—and every convulsive grip of the little hand, though it was caused by nothing more than the uncertainties of the way, set his heart dancing and riveted the golden chains still more firmly round it.
There are difficult bits in those caves in the Grève de la Ville,—steep ascents, and black drops in sheer faith into unknown depths, and tight squeezes past sloping shelves which seem on the point of closing and cracking one like a nut; and when they crawled out at last into a boulder-strewn plateau, open to the sea on one side only, they sighed gratefully at the ample height and breadth of things, and sank down on the shingle to breathe the free air and sunshine.
He amused them by telling them how, the last time he was there, he found an elderly gentleman sitting with his head in his hands, on that exact spot. And how, at sight of the new-comer, he had come running to him and fallen sobbing on his neck. He had been there for over an hour seeking the way out, and not being able to find it, had got into a panic.
"I wonder if you could find the place we came in, now?" said Graeme. "Scamp, lie down, sir, and don't give me away!"
"Why, certainly, it's just there," said Miss Penny, jumping up energetically and marching across, while the dogs grinned open-mouthed at her lack of perception. For it wasn't there at all, and she searched without avail, and at last sat down again saying, "Well, I sympathise with your old gentleman, Mr. Graeme. If I was all alone here, and unable to find that hole, I should go into hysterics, though it's not a thing I'm given to. I suppose we did get in somehow."
"Obviously! And that's where the advantage of a guide comes in, you see."
"I, for one, appreciate him highly, I can assure you. Where is that wretched hole?"
"Here it is, you see. It's a tricky place. I shall never forget the look of relief on that old fellow's face at sight of me. I believe he thinks to this day that I saved his life. He stuck to me like a leech all the way through the further caves and till we got back to the entrance."
"We're not through them yet then?"
"Through? Bless me no, we're only just starting, but there's no use hurrying. Tide's right, and we have plenty of time."
"I feel as if I'd been lost and found again," said Miss Penny. "If Mr. Pixley comes along we'll induce him in here and leave him to find his way out."
"It would take more than you to get Mr. Pixley in here, Hennie," said Margaret quietly. "He'd never venture off the roads, even if he risked his life in reaching Sark. He's much too careful of himself."
"He thinks a good deal more of himself than I do," said Miss Penny. "With all deference to you, Meg, since he's a relative, I consider him a jolly old humbug."