'To eat?' cried Estelle, shrinking with horror, and springing away from the dirty-looking black shells.
Her violent jump made the boat give a heavy lurch, and she nearly fell overboard.
'Hullo!' cried Alan, while Marjorie pulled her back to her seat, begging her to keep still.
'What's the matter? asked Georgie with a laugh, his eyes dancing with delight at having startled her. 'Why, they are only mussels. Lots of people eat them, and periwinkles too. You shall taste them yourself.'
'Oh, Georgie, do throw them into the sea! They are horrid!' she exclaimed, shuddering. 'I don't like this bay, or the dark cruel rocks, or the waiting for Thomas, with the tide coming in to drown us if he is late! And now those dirty shells—alive and horrid—which you want to eat!'
Georgie laughed with such shouts of merriment that Alan told him to shut up; he would have the boat over if he kicked about in that manner. But his laugh was so infectious that Estelle was forced into joining, especially when, to please her, he threw the shells into the waves as they landed.
The wood, dignified by the name of the Wilderness, led up to the rear of the Moat House. It was of great extent, reaching to the coastguard path on the cliffs, and stretching far across the coast-line. In the midst of it was the old ruined summer-house, in which the children delighted. It was not in the least like a summer-house, nor could anybody give a reason for its name. It was, in fact, all that remained of the ancient rampart which had once surrounded the Moat House. It was fifteen feet high, and was probably the last of many such three-cornered towers. Now the flanking walls had either disappeared altogether, or they had become little moss-covered mounds of stone. Trees and bushwood hid it from view on one side; broken steps went up a second, which led more or less perilously to the top, where a table, some rough wooden seats, and a rustic chair or two showed that it was used by the children, if not by their elders. On the third side, where the ivy had grown thick with age, and stood out from the wall like a tree, was a heavy oak door, clamped with iron and studded with large nails. In front of this spread a soft carpet of ground ivy and moss, just now starred with celandines and morning glories, while the bright, fresh green of the slender birches drooped over it, and cast trembling shadows.
The door had a special attraction for the children. They would often stand and gaze at it, making up long stories of what might be found inside. Each in turn had tried to induce the old gardener, Peet, to open it, but as yet no persuasions or arguments had had any effect upon him. He refused to let them have even one peep.
Great was Estelle's surprise, then, when passing it on their return from the boat, to find it open. She rubbed her eyes, and caught hold of Alan in her excitement, pointing with her other hand towards the little slit. There was an instant rush for the ruin. Alan, taking the lead, made the first attempt to push the door open a little wider, and catch a glimpse of what lay behind it, but he failed. The interior was too dark, and the door too heavy to move without help. Determined not to give in, however, he called the others to his assistance, but to their astonishment, it took the combined strength of the party to push it wide enough to gain even a glimpse of what was inside. It was amazingly weighty; but when at last it did move, it swung back quickly and unexpectedly, nearly knocking the children over. Struggling to their feet again, they gazed at each other in awe, delight, and wonder, till Alan, overcoming his amazement, went forward to inspect their discovery, the others following close at his heels.
Thomas had been left behind with the boat, and would not be up till they had had time to examine the inside to their hearts' content. That is what Alan counted upon, at all events. But he had reckoned without his host.