"But then we shall have to have a man with us, and that costs such a lot of money."
"Come along, silly-billy!" cried Pickle with good-humored scorn; "you'll soon see how we do things, Puck and I. A man, indeed! As though we'd have a great lumbering gowk to spoil all our fun, and have to pay him too! No fear!"
Pickle took a short cut across country towards the shore. It was safer than the road in many ways, and the path he selected did not lead to the fishing village, but to a little cove half a mile away to the right. Milly danced beside him chattering gleefully.
"O Pickle, can you row yourself?"
"Of course I can. Puck and I rowed old Pollard's boat about for him the other day amongst the lobster-pots. Anybody can row—at least anybody with any sense. You only have to put the oar in the water and pull it out again. Even a girl could do that."
"We've never been let try," said Milly. "We hardly ever go in a boat. Mother doesn't like it. Sometimes father takes us out on a fine evening, but not often. He's busy, and mother generally thinks it too cold or damp or something."
"I'm glad I wasn't brought up in a poll-parrot's cage," was Pickle's remark; "your mother seems worse than Aunt Saint, and she's pretty silly about boys."
"I believe mother was a cockney," said Milly gravely. "Perhaps that is why, though I don't quite know what a cockney is."
Pickle laughed, but they were going too fast for much conversation. It was rough walking, but they did not want to lose time.
"Here we are!" shouted Pickle, as they came suddenly upon a little cleft in the fringe of moorland they were skirting, and could see right down to the shining sea. "Here's the place, and here's the old boat. I've settled with the old fellow for it, and he promised to leave the oars and things in all ready. Oh, jolly! jolly! jolly! Now we'll have a lark!"