"Oh please, I want to change—I want to be one of—no, I forgot, they can't get out either—I wish I were a—a——"
"Holy St. Patrick!"
"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed both men, glancing down at her.
"—A periwinkle!" gasped Dulcie faintly.
The next second the little girl disappeared from their view and the fishermen rubbed their eyes and stared at one another with their mouths open. The big fishes and little were quick to seize that golden opportunity of their captors' careless handling of the net—and escaped, down to every jack sprat of them. And with the gentle murmur of the sea there mingled noisy and ugly words of baffled hope and disappointment.
CHAPTER VI
THE MYSTERY OF THE CRAB
At the base of that Cliff where the wild flowers grew, the golden sands were still bathed in hot sunshine, and roughly caressed by the incoming waves. Upon the crest of one of these a Periwinkle was borne, and tossed, and flung, until it was landed high and wet on a soft bed of seaweed. But not for long—for very soon a little girl arose from that bed of seaweed, smoothed back her clinging hair, and cried out with joy as she recognised her surroundings. It was Dulcie, glad to be herself once more, and on the same beautiful sands again; and her first thought was of course for Cyril.
She was dripping wet. To wipe her face she took out her handkerchief, which of course was wet also. In order to dry it she tied it to a piece of stick; thus it could serve as a flag, too, which she could wave to attract Cyril if he were about that coast, and show him where she was.