"Yes, it was stupid," Edwin owned, "but then I did not know what I was doing."
The sound of their voices brought Effie to the door of the hut, and they heard a little piping voice behind repeating, "Bowen, please sir; his name was Bowen."
"What! the captain's?" they cried.
"No, the schoolboy's," she persisted, shrinking from the cold sea-breeze blowing her hair into her eyes, and fluttering her scant blue skirt, and banging at the door until it shut again, in spite of her utmost efforts to keep it open.
Here was a discovery of far more importance in the estimation of Mr. Bowen's men than all the rest.
"If that is our young master Arthur," they said, "coming up for the holidays, we must find him, let alone everything else. We must be off to the central station; and as for these children, better take them along with us."
This was just what Edwin wanted. After a reassuring word to Effie anent the black boy-rat, he set himself to work piling up the wreckage, with the care of one about to leave the place.
He had not forgotten Hal's charge to stay where he left them.
"But better be lost than starved," said the men; and he agreed with them. Even Audrey had failed to send them food to that far-off hut. It was clear there was no one to bring it.
"You should have gone with the sailors," said the boundary rider. "You must go with us."