Book Two—Chapter Seven.
“I Think You’re Going on a Wild-Goose Chase.”
Halcott paused, and gazed seawards over the great stretch of wet beach.
So wet was it that the sun’s parting rays lit it up in great stripes of crimson chequered with gold.
And yonder are the children coming slowly home across these painted sands.
A strange group, most certainly, but united in one bond of union—oh, would that all the world were so!—the bond of love.
The brother’s arm is placed gently around his sister’s waist; the Admiral is stepping drolly by Ransey’s side, with his head and neck thrust through the lad’s arm.
Something seems to tell the bird that fate, which took away his master before, might take him once again.
Bob brings up the rear. His head is low towards the sands, but he feels very happy and satisfied with his afternoon’s outing.