"I could row you there at once," returns Claude, "if it wasn't for this wrist of mine."
"Oh, but it's Sunday; Aunt Hetty wouldn't like us to go."
"She wouldn't mind it if I reasoned with her," responds Mr. Molyneux with perfect confidence in his own powers of argument. "All those little prejudices of hers could soon be got rid of."
"Drake says it's rather dangerous near White Cove," observes Bee after another silence; "because of all the sunken rocks, you know."
"No, I don't know: I've never been there. But you've set me longing to see the place, old chap."
"Oh, it's lovely!" she cries, with enthusiasm. "Thousands and thousands of sea-birds sit on the cliffs; and there are lots of little caves, all hung with silky green sea-weeds, so quiet and cool."
Claude leans back against the low rock behind him, and looks out across the sea with eyes half-closed. The horizon line is sharp and clear to-day; the blue of the sky meets, but does not mingle with the deeper blue of the ocean; a few white sails can be distinctly seen. Now and then a gull flashes silvery wings in the sunshine, and its cry comes wailing across the water to the shore.
"Why, there's Tim!" says Bee, pointing to a broad-shouldered figure moving leisurely along the sand.
He hears the well-known voice, and turns instantly.
"Well, he may make himself useful to-day," remarks Claude, with a sudden inspiration. "I daresay he'll be glad enough to row to the cove if we ask him."