Soon after six Adrian said he should bathe. Crow unearthed a magazine, and Pamela said she would climb to the top and look at the view.
Everybody agreed that it "was all right", and became absorbed in their different occupations. Time passed so swiftly that it had presently reached the hour of half-past seven. Then Adrian, who had become busy on the yawl in some unexpected direction, came ashore and said it was time to be lifting anchor.
Christobel shut the magazine, wishing next month was due to-morrow, and gazed at him with vague eyes.
"Wake up, old lady; we ought to be getting back. Where's that idiot Pam?"
"Oh, isn't she on the shore?" said Christobel, stretching. "How heavenly it looks!"
"Yes, I know, but it's about eight o'clock--or soon will be. We'd better get things on board; I can come and take her off."
"Whistle--call," suggested Crow, getting up from her fern seat.
Adrian did his best, which was something to be proud of, in the noise line. Christobel had to tell him to stop; she said the lighthouse at Ramsworthy would send the boat up, thinking it was a ship in distress. They both stood on the edge of the rippled sea, looking up at the cliff and the wooded gully that cut it from top to the rocky base.
"There!" exclaimed Crow.
"Pam--e--la, hullo--o!" Adrian's strong voice woke echoes that called and called again.