,
without needing to change his position.

Sep turned and looked up at her.

"I thought you said he was never coming back," he said, reproachfully.

"So I did. I thought he was never coming back."

Sep looked at her again, and then at the boat. One never knows how much
children, and dogs--who live daily with human beings--understand.

"Your face is very red," he observed. "That comes from telling
untruths."

"It comes from the cold wind," replied Miriam, with an odd, breathless
laugh.

"If we do not go home, he will be there before us," said Sep, gravely.
"He will make one tack across to the other side, and then make the mouth
of the creek."

They turned and walked, side by side, on the top of the sea-wall toward
the rectory. Their figures must have been outlined against the sky, for
any watching from the river. The girl, tall and strong, walking with the
ease that comes from health and a steadfast mind; the eager, restless
boy running and jumping by her side. Barebone must have seen them as
soon as they saw him. They were part of Farlingford, these two. He had a
sudden feeling of having been away for years, with this difference--that
he came back and found nothing changed. Whereas, in reality, he who
returns after a long absence usually finds no one awaiting him.

He did as Sep had foretold--crossing to the far side of the river, and
then gaining the mouth of the creek in one tack. Miriam and Sep had
reached the rectory garden first, and now stood waiting for him. He came
on in silence. Last time--on "The Last Hope"--he had come up the river
singing.

Sep waved his hand, and, in response, Barebone nodded his head, with one
eye peering ahead, for the breeze was fresh.

The old chain was still there, imperfectly fastened round a tottering
post at the foot of the tide-washed steps. It clinked as he made fast
the boat. Miriam had not heard the sound of it since that night, long
ago, when Loo had gone down the steps in the dark and cast off.

"I was given a passage home in a French fishing-boat, and borrowed their
dinghy to come ashore in," said Loo, as he came up the steps. He knew
that Farlingford would want some explanation, and that Sep would be
proud to give it. An explanation is never the worse for a spice of
truth.

"Miriam told me you were never coming home again," answered Sep, still
nourishing that grievance.

"Well, she was wrong, and here I am!" was Loo's reply, with his old,
ready laugh. "And