believe it."

"I believe it, too. Not that they lived like that book, but that there
is the Blood ... Oh, what's the good of trying to explain to you? It's
like you when you're painting and you try and make me see a lot of
colours I can't."

"Hullo ... there she comes," cried Killigrew, with a sudden quickening
of voice and aspect; "I say, it must be ghastly trying to walk in one of
those things. Girls must be different or they wouldn't put up with them.
I'll go and help her. Come on, we'll have to sit down below now."

The two boys scrambled down the boulders and assisted Hilaria--the hem
of whose white tarlatan skirts showed already the worse for her
walk--over the hummocky patch of rocks and gorse that fringed the
hollow. Laughing rather ruefully, she flung herself down, scattering her
bonnet, shawl, and bag over the turf in the impetuous movement. The
lowest rim of the crinoline promptly stood straight up from the ground
like a hoop, displaying her long legs and the multitudinous petticoats
lying limply upon them, and she was forced to adopt a change of
position. Finally she settled herself with her feet tucked in under her
and the obnoxious garment swelling out all round, as though she had just
flopped down and made what the children call a "cheese."

"I say, where's the magazine?" asked Ishmael.

"In my bag; but you're not to 'look on.' Here are some jumbles, but we
must keep the others' share for them. Did you get them all, Ishmael?"
For some reason best known to herself, she called him by his Christian
name and Killigrew by his nickname of "Bunny," though she addressed the
other boys in mannish fashion of surnames only.

"I told Polkinghorne minor and told him to let the others know."

"Did you remember to tell him we didn't want Doughty?"

"I think so ... at least I didn't say to ask him to come," confessed
Ishmael, who had the worst head in the world for a message.

"Here they are," announced Killigrew; "I think there're only four of
them ..." He screwed up his eyes to gaze, for he was short-sighted.
Ishmael gave a glance.

"There's five ..." he said apologetically; "I'm afraid he's there. I can
see Polkinghorne and Carminow and Polkinghorne minor and Moss minor
and--yes, it's Doughty. I hope you don't mind fearfully, Hilaria?"

She threw a queer little look at him. "It's not for me," she said
slowly; "it's only that I don't think he likes you, Ishmael. He tried to
tell me something funny about you