y staggered up the beach a little
way, and flung themselves down on the shingle.

Two hours passed before Arthur Miles awoke. The sun had climbed over
the low cliff to the eastward of the cove, and shone on his lids.
It seemed to him that his feet were lying in water.

So indeed they were, for the tide had risen and .was running around his
ankles. But while he sat up, wondering at this new marvel, Tilda gave a
cry and pointed.

The boat had vanished.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE ISLAND.

"_Be not afraid; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not._"--THE TEMPEST.

"Well," said Tilda dolefully, "I guess that about settles us!"

The boy, his hands thrust into his breeches' pockets, stared over the
sea for a while.

"I don't see that it matters much," he answered at length, withdrawing
his gaze. "You know well enough we could never have worked her back
again."

"Oh, indeed? And 'ow are we goin' to pick up our vittles? I don't know
what _you_ feel like, but I could do with breakfast a'ready."

"Perhaps 'Dolph can catch us a rabbit," he suggested hopefully after a
pause. "I heard Roger say last night that Holmness swarmed with
rabbits."

"Rabbits?" said Tilda with scorn. "D'yer know 'ow to skin one if we
caught 'im?"

"No, I don't," he confessed.

"And when he's skinned, there's the cookin'; and we 'aven't so much as a
box of matches. . . . That's the worst of boys, they 're so
unpractical."

"Well, then, we can hunt for gulls' eggs."

"That's better; if," she added on an afterthought, "gulls 'appen to lay
eggs at this time of year--which I'll bet they don't."

"Look here," said the boy severely, "we haven't searched yet.
What's the use of giving in before we've _tried?_ Nobody starves on the
Island, I tell you; and--and I can't bear your talking in this way.
It isn't _like_ you--"

"I can't _'elp_ it," owned poor Tilda with a dry sob.

"--breaking down," he continued, "just when we've reached, and all the
rest is going to happen just as the book says."

"That's likely!"

"It's certain." He pulled out the tattered, coverless volume. "Why, I
do believe"--he said it with a kind of grave wonder--"you're hankering
after that silly cottage!"

"Of course I am," she confessed defiantly, for he exasperated her.
"We'd promised to ride over an' see Miss Sally this afternoon, an' I
wanted to spend the 'ole mornin' learnin' 'ow to be a lady. . . .
I don't g