ed it
up, the three of us began our walk towards the further shore of the
bay, expecting Hercus to follow with the dog.

"Hello! what can be keeping Hercus so long?" asked Robbie, when we
had walked some distance.

I told him about the rat that the dog was after, and looked back
for Willie. Not seeing him, we concluded he had gone round by the
top of the cliffs, and we continued our way a few yards further.
Then we heard Hercus calling after us in an excited way.

"Come back, lads, come back!" he shouted; and I looked at the sea
line, fearing lest it was the rising tide that Hercus was warning
us against.

"I'm not going back," objected Tom. "We've got time to get to the
other side long before the water's up. Besides, I'm hungry. I'm
going home."

"Tut, didn't we wait for you while you skinned your seal? Let's go
back," I urged. "Maybe Hercus is hurt."

"Come away back, Tom," added Rosson.

So we all returned to where Willie Hercus still remained, and
wondered what he could mean by calling us back.

When we entered the chasm we were much surprised to find Hercus
lying flat on the shingle, with his right arm deep in a hole he had
dug, and the dog at his side, wagging her tail and uttering short
barks of excitement.

"Good sakes!" exclaimed Robbie Rosson. "What's wrong with the lad?"

Much relieved we were to hear Hercus speak. I confess I had felt
certain some harm had happened to him.

"Come away," he said, in a tone which was far from being a cry of
pain. "Come away, lads, and give us a hand here. There's better
gear than rats in this hole, I'm thinking."

And, so saying, he rose to his knees and held out to us a heavy and
black piece of metal, which at first I took to be an iron bolt.

"Well, what is it?" I asked, taking the thing in my hand and
examining it.

"What is it?" said Hercus. "Can you not see, lad? Why, it's
silver!"

Chapter VII. What The Shingle Revealed.

Now the explanation of Willie's curious discovery, as we afterwards
fully learned, was this: When I took up the dead falcon, Hercus,
intent upon witnessing Selta's skill at ratting, stood beside the
dog as she scraped with her forefeet the shingle from the crevice
through which the rat had escaped. Disappointed at losing her
prize, the terrier dug and dug away at the shingle and moist sand,
scattering it behind her, and burying her nose deep down. Then a
strange, grim object was unearthed. In the midst of the stones,
Hercus