“Where, then? I no see,” objected Stumpy, limping down among the pebbles.
“He was here a moment ago— Oh,” in immediate fright, “where can that boy be?”
“You no watch him?” asked Stumpy, with lifted eyebrows. “I think you always watch Ronnie.”
“I do,” answered Lesley, in a grieved voice, “I always do, but I forgot one moment. Oh,” breaking into sobs, “where is he and what will mother say?”
“I know very well what she say,” observed Stumpy, dryly, “but what we do before she say?”
“He must be climbing the rocks, somewhere, he must be, for he said only this morning that he hadn’t found a murre’s egg since he lived in this country.”
Stumpy could not but smile at this Ronald-like speech, though at heart he was a little anxious. “H——m,” he murmured. “Well, if it was a murre’s egg he want, he have to climb pretty high— Halloo, halloo, Ronald!” he shouted—“Where are you? Halloo! Halloo!”
“Halloo! Halloo, Ronnie!” called Lesley in her high, clear voice.
No answer, but an unusual fluttering and screaming of sea-birds around the “Gateway Rock” showed that something was amiss there and the old sailor and the girl started off in that direction.
Now the Gateway Rock was the central one of three sisters stretching out from shore, the third being entirely surrounded by water and the second one partly on and to be reached by land. Near the top of its jagged, shining masses was a narrow opening like a door through which you saw the heaving blue waters of the Pacific like a picture in a frame of ebony. The three rocks were particularly favored by gulls, murres, and cormorants as their resting-place and Ronald had climbed there before under his father’s advice and direction. Now, however, he had mounted the heights alone, for Lesley could plainly see his small figure in the Gateway as they drew near and a bit of something white that must be a handkerchief, fluttering in his hand.