“Well, dearie, I’m rejoiced to hear it. What is the scheme?”
“You know, sir, that many of the black or white-headed gulls, and the skuas and kittiwakes as well, are British birds, and that they will soon perhaps take their departure.”
“Yes, they don’t build here, and spring—the English spring—will soon be smiling in our own dear country.”
“Well then, Davie and I propose catching those birds by the score and tying to their legs little messages in quills. If only one of all we send off—and we purpose sending hundreds—if only one is shot by those murdering ’longshore chaps, it may result in relief coming to us in a few months’ time.”
Antonio smiled, somewhat sadly it must be allowed.
“Don’t you like the plan?”
“I like anything that will give us even the off-chance of getting clear away, out of this black and dreary sea.”
“Hurrah!” cried Barclay; “then I’ll go and tell Davie Drake.”
And away he went.
He found Davie with Sister Leona and Teenie;—the latter, by the way, was now in her fourteenth year, but still the innocent baby, the fascinating child she had always been.