"Oh, we've tried it so often, and with different nurses and governesses, and with Granny and Crump. We know all about that sort of thing. Crump was the worst to reckon on. He would sometimes say very little that day, but take it out of you next. But then Crump was Crump, and one never minded much what he did. I wish we had him here now."
"Would he let you have a city of refuge out here?" asked Milly wonderingly.
"Of course he would. Crump isn't like a pack of silly women, who always think one is going to kill oneself. Crump likes boys to do things for themselves, and not be always hanging round and asking other people to take care of them. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up, and soldiers have to learn how to do lots of things; and Puck will be either a soldier or a sailor. Crump said we might choose for ourselves; and when we had chosen we must stick to it like bricks, and so we will."
"I'm going to be a Cornish boy!" cried Bertie; "my father said so. Cornish boys can all swim, and row boats, and wrestle, and things like that. We'll learn all about that at the city of refuge. It's the women who spoil everything. Let's pass a law that no woman shall ever be allowed to set foot on our island."
"Then you mustn't count me a woman!" cried Milly appealingly.
"Of course not!" answered all the boys at once; and Pickle went on judicially—"We shan't count all girls as women—only the very stupid ones like Pretty Polly. Tousle may come as a visitor sometimes; and you may come always, Milly, if you'll be jolly and not tell secrets. I don't count people like you women. You have some sense."
"And perhaps if you get regularly jolly, you won't ever be a woman," added Puck consolingly. "I should think there must be some way of stopping it. When Old Bobby or the Owl are in good temper I'll ask them about it. They have all sorts of funny things in bottles and tanks, and they can do lots of queer things. I'll ask them if they can't do something to stop you always being a woman. You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes!" cried Milly eagerly. "If I could be a Cornish boy I should be quite happy."
But time was flying fast, and, unless the children wanted their secret to escape them too soon, they would have to be going back. They had had a fine time out on the island, and the tide had begun to flow again, and had floated their boat, which, for above an hour, had been lying stranded amid the rocks.
So in they all tumbled, and rowed back homewards, reaching the creek as the clock in the village church chimed out the hour of six.