"Please, please go," she said. "I can carry him quite well after he has rested a little bit."

"You will be found out," said the twins warningly.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Susie.

"It seemed to matter a good deal a little while ago," said Dot resentfully.

"Nothing matters now," said Susie, "except to get d.i.c.k home."

"Well, you can't rest long," said Dash, "because the tide's coming in."

Susie looked vaguely at the island behind her, with the waves splashing against its sides, and then at the glistening rocks that made rough stepping-stones to land. She had no idea about the tides; she only knew that on some days the rocks showed more above the water than on others, but there were always rocks. She shook her head impatiently.

"I know all about the tide," she said. "I am perfectly certain I can get home all right."

"Oh, you're always perfectly certain," said Dot.

"So I am," said Susie.

"Well, good-night," said Dash. "Don't fiddle about too long with d.i.c.k, that's all."

"Good-night," said Susie cheerfully.

She saw the two active figures leaping away into the twilight, splashing from rock to rock, till they became gray and indistinct like moving shadows. She felt suddenly chilled and lonely, and the silence and gloom enveloped them--a forlorn little group in the midst of the growing dark.

"d.i.c.kie," said Susie presently, "we must start back before it gets any darker. I think it's going to pour. If I put my arm round you, do you think you can walk?"

"Why, the water would go over my head," said d.i.c.k.

He pushed out a fat leg and let it dangle against the rock; already the white spray was splashing over it. Susie stared at it incredulously. When the twins left, it had been a shallow pool, and they had waded through it.

"Oh, hurry up, d.i.c.k!" she said, in a sudden panic. "Mother will be frightened."

"It's fun, though," said d.i.c.k.

Fun! The word did not seem at all the right word to Susie, but she said nothing. She knew now in a flash what the twins meant by the rising tide, but all she saw was her mother's face with the fear on it.

But Susie had not been the eldest of the little family for so many years for nothing. She knew that, whatever happened, d.i.c.k must not get bronchitis, and she put her own fear bravely on one side to think of him.

First she slipped over the rock, and found that it reached her waist, and that every wave made it more difficult to stand. With d.i.c.k on her back it would be impossible; and the long links of the chain of rocks stretched such a weary way with those shining pools between. The wind roared against the island, and the spray dashed up it; but Susie remembered the gra.s.s and the goats, and a gleam of hope sprang up within her.

"O d.i.c.k, we are close to the island," she said. "I had quite forgotten.

We must clamber over the rocks and get there; and, d.i.c.kie darling, even if your foot hurts, you will be brave."

"I will be brave, Susie," said d.i.c.k.

The rocks were slippery, and the seaweed popped under their feet like little guns; but jumping, slipping, clinging together, they reached the foot of the island, and then began the difficult scramble upwards. d.i.c.k hung heavily on to Susie's skirt, and his little feet were torn and bruised. But Susie's courage was the courage of hope, not of despair. She lifted him over difficult places, and clung to edges of the cliff where it seemed as if even the seagulls had not room to stand. Once she found a narrow track, but she lost it again in the darkness, and still she felt the splash of the waves and heard the startled birds crying overhead.

Never, never had Susie been so tired; but those pursuing waves chased her up, and by-and-by she felt dry crags under her feet, and then welcome gra.s.s--wet with rain, not sea.

Drawing long, sobbing breaths, Susie sank down and drew d.i.c.kie into her arms. In the far, far distance little lights were twinkling in the town, and Susie's heart gave a pa.s.sionate leap; it wanted to annihilate time and s.p.a.ce, and carry her home.

"Mother, mother, mother!" she cried under her breath.

d.i.c.k was wet and tired, but he was too excited to lie still. He lay in the hollow of Susie's lap, with his wet feet curled up into her skirt, and his round eyes shining.

"We can't be drowned now, Susie," he said, smiling.

Susie had to make quite an effort before her stiff lips would speak.

"No, d.i.c.kie, we are quite safe," she said; "but the ledge is so narrow you must not fidget about. I am going to make you a dear little bed like a bird's nest."

"I don't want to stay here all night," he said.

"But there are goats here."

"I don't want there to be goats," he said again.

"I only mean," said Susie, "that if G.o.d can take care of the goats, He can take care of us too."

"I would rather," said d.i.c.kie, after a pause, "that He would put us back into our cribs."

"Perhaps He will," said Susie; "but you must sit quite still, and let me creep down and try if there is any other way to get to sh.o.r.e."

"No, Susie, you mustn't go," said d.i.c.k, whimpering. "I won't cry if you are here, but if you go I shall--I shall _weep_," he said.

"O darling d.i.c.k, don't," said Susie imploringly. "Perhaps mother will come to the sh.o.r.e and see us, or perhaps the twins will tell her, or perhaps the fishermen will bring a boat."

"I shall _weep_," repeated d.i.c.k firmly. After that he did not speak again, but he put his two chubby arms so tightly round her neck that he nearly choked her. "I won't _let_ you go," he said sleepily.

Susie felt in despair. "I must go, d.i.c.k. I don't see what else I can do."

"You said yourself"--d.i.c.k's voice was sleepier, and he nestled closer--"you said yourself that G.o.d would take care of us and the goats."

d.i.c.k was so determined that Susie was afraid to try to get away. She was sure that he would insist on coming too, and that she would never be able to do that terrible scramble again. Susie's active brain flashed from point to point in a moment of time, and it seemed to her that there was, after all, nothing particular to be gained by going down on to the rocks.

No one could see her through the mist and darkness, and her feeble voice would never be heard through the wind. d.i.c.k was almost asleep, and the ledge was sheltered. _If_ she could get him to sleep! She rolled him out of her arms, keeping her arm as a pillow under his head. Then with her free hand she unfastened her serge skirt and tucked it round him. When he coughed, she slipped off her flannel petticoat and wrapped it round his head and throat, and almost before he had shut his eyes she heard his even breathing.

"O darling d.i.c.k!" said Susie, under her breath.

She crept as near to him as she could, sheltering him in the crevice of the cliff. Her one flimsy petticoat was soaked, and her legs felt like ice; but those little choking snores filled her with a joy almost too great for words.

The rain beat in her face and flicked her wet hair against it like the lash of a whip; but Susie felt nothing except the warm comfort of the little body behind her, saw nothing but the gleaming row of lights that marked the Parade. All her heart moved in one pa.s.sionate cry, "If mother will only forgive me!" And then she realized, with a glow of happiness, that she had never really doubted it; that she had known quite well all the time that there would be no need for tears or protestations--mother would understand.

The stars came out and the leaping waves seemed to fall asleep, whilst Susie, with wide-awake eyes, settled herself for the interminable night.

But nature is very kind to the remorseful sinner as well as to the happy and the innocent, and presently her head fell back against d.i.c.k's comfortable, cosy shoulder, and she too fell into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER IX.