"There she goes," said Tommie, with abroad and noisy grin. "You're in luck."
"And we are glad of it," admitted Cleo, popping into the boat.
"Which side shall we land at?" asked the boat man, as they brushed the sandy shore.
"We don't know," answered Cleo. "Which way do you think is best? We would like to get on a quiet end, not near the cottages, if there are any?" said Grace.
"Don't know much about it," said Tommie. "But I guess the far end is best—over by the Cave of the Winds," he finished, pointing his boat toward the rocky arch on the far side of the little island.
The two scouts stepped cautiously ashore. That end of the island was banked with huge rocks that shot up almost straight, forming a natural fort, with the rugged, artistic arch at its base. Under the arch Grace and Cleo felt their way, and their attention was almost immediately arrested by a series of the pasteboard cards, signed "Peter Pan."
"Little Royal's work," said Grace quietly. "Wonder if we shall see him?"
Up from the rocks a sparkling little stream played. Its origin was a spring under a hill, and as it trickled along, in the tender growth of green, the girls felt instinctively the beauty of the little spot so hidden and isolated from the inhabitants of Sea Crest.
"Lovely!" breathed Cleo. "Little Royal could hardly be lonely here."
"Oh, yes, he could," contradicted Grace. "A child wants more than scenery to play with."