e sea with a bird or two
perched on its seat. It looks very funny then, when all the rocks near
it are quite covered."

"It really is curious," Claude is beginning to say, when there is a bump
and a terrible grating noise. The boat has struck against one of those
traitorous rocks, and her rotten planks have given way. Long before they
can reach the landing-place she will be full of water; there is already
a stream flowing in through the rent in her side, and Tim, quiet and
cool, takes in every detail of the case before Claude has begun fully to
realise their condition. Without a moment's hesitation he pulls straight
towards the little strip of sand that is to be seen at the base of the
Chair.

"Quick, Claude," he says in decided tones, "the wind is rising, and the
tide is coming in fast. You must get Bee up into the Chair, and you'll
have to follow her; although there's hardly room for two."

"Do you mean that we shall have to stay up there till the tide goes
out?" asks Claude. "Why, it's absurd! Is there no other way to----"

"There _is_ no other way to save your lives, so far as I can see. Now
don't lose time; the Chair isn't so easy to climb, after all. There are
little dents in the rock where your toes may go, but no projections
anywhere. It's just a smooth block of stone."

Poor Bee, who knows that Tim must have good reasons for being serious,
tries to obey him without delay. But how could she ever have fancied
that this dreadful rock was easy to climb! It is nearly as slippery as
glass, and affords so little hold for hands or feet that she is almost
in despair. The boys encourage her with their voices; Claude is
scrambling up after her--not without difficulty, however, for his
sprained wrist gives him many a sharp twinge. And then at last, after
terrible efforts, the "footstool" ledge is gained, and Bee drags herself
up to the seat of the chair.

But what a seat it is! Merely a niche which looks as if it had been
scooped out of the solid stone and furnished with a narrow shelf. How
will it be possible for her to make herself very small, and leave space
for Claude?

Even in these fearful moments she finds herself thinking of the eleven
swan princes in the fairy tale, and that little rock in mid ocean on
which they stood crowded together when the sun went down. Claude is
here, squeezed into the narrow niche by her side, and he is calling out
to Tim, down below.

"Come up, Tim," he cries, and there is a rin