“I say, Denny, which was the lie, eh?”
He felt the slender body beneath his arm start, quiver, and grow unnaturally still.
“Was it a lie that you saw those things or that you didn’t see them, which?”
“Th-that I saw th-them.”
There was a pause. Then Perry said gently:
“Poor little chap; it’s a shame. All right old man. Go to sleep; I’ll stay with you.”
To himself he said: “Who’s to blame for that lie, Den or the dad?”
The holidays were nearly over; Perry was about to return for his last term to Harrow and Dennis was going for his first term to a preparatory school. Before his final departure Perry was going to walk fifteen miles in order to stay for a couple of days with some friends. A week before this visit there was a farewell picnic at the Head. It was a lovely day and the sea was blue and calm. Perry was on the cliff building the fire for the picnic tea; Dennis was on the rocks below. Then he turned and ran; he rushed up the cliff path sobbing out that there was a drowned man in the water below. Of course March, Perry, and three or four young men ran to the shore only to see the water rippling peacefully in and the brown weed swaying with the lazy tide.
March shouted to the child on the cliff:
“Come here.”