broke into a
howl of woe.

"I'm glad she's not--she'd make a worse noise than you, from my
experience of her," murmured Gwen. "Look here!" she continued, turning
to Dick, "I suppose we've got to fish this little wretch up somehow."

"If I reach down can you catch hold of my hand and let me pull you?"
shouted Dick to the snivelling Johnnie.

"Nay! I durstn't stir an inch--oh! where's my mother?"

"He's lost his nerve--that's what's the damage. If I go down for him
could you give me a haul back?"

Gwen shook her head.

"You're too heavy. Better do it the other way. I'll go down, hand up
the kid, and then you shall pull me back. Nonsense! I'm not bothered
with nerves. Shan't mind in the least!"

It seemed the more feasible plan, for the six feet of rock that
sheered down to the ledge was so steep and smooth of surface as to
render it impossible for anyone to climb it without assistance; and it
would be comparatively easy for Dick to drag Gwen's lighter weight to
the top, though a difficult matter for her to pull him. If her heart
went into her mouth as she let herself over the edge, Gwen did not
show it. She was not given to exhibiting the white feather, and both
at school and at home kept up a well-deserved reputation for pluck.
Five seconds landed her by Johnnie's side, and once there she tried
not to look into the gulf below. After some amount of cajoling, she
persuaded the young rascal to take his dirty little fists out of his
eyes, and allow himself to be hoisted up within reach of Dick's firm
grip; then a successful heave did the rest. Johnnie was soon in
safety, but it was much harder work for Gwen to follow; there was
nobody to boost her, and not an inch of ledge on the rock to make a
foothold.

"It's good practice for Alpine climbing!" she gasped, as with
dishevelled hair and grazed face she at last scrambled back. "I
thought my arms were being dislocated."

Dick was rubbing his own arms ruefully, but he did not complain. He
had turned very white. Perhaps the effort of pulling up two people had
been rather too much for him. Gwen suddenly remembered with
compunction that he was ill, and not even allowed the exertion of
golf, much less "footer". She wished she had thought of it before and
gone to the lighthouse for help.

"I'm an idiot," she told herself. "It was I who suggested he should do
the hauling part. I hope he hasn't done himself any harm."

Meantime Johnnie Cass stood surveying Gwen with th