14

After three days on the island of Inchmore, Justin was a changed boy. He declared that he had never had such prime fun before, that he would like to stay on an island for the rest of his life "out of reach of old Buckle, with his prosings and preachings about the duties of dukes." He added, "I'd sooner have my ma, any day. She's a one-er, ain't she, Simon? And as for being a lord, now I've thought it over I reckon it's a mug's lay; I never liked it above half, and that's the truth. You're welcome to the life, Simon—Buckle and all. I'm only sorry Buckle's my Pa; I'd as lief there was no connection."

Simon thanked Justin absently for his good wishes. The island air did not appear to have done Simon so much good as it had Justin; he was thin and pale, and Mrs. Buckle clucked over him concernedly. He had, in fact, spent most of the three days in a vain search of the island for Dido, assisted by Dr. Field.

"Oh, she'll be as right as a trivet somewhere, I daresay," Justin asserted, and Mrs. Buckle said comfortably, "Now, don't you worry my dearie. Depend on it, any child of that tight-fisted, stony-hearted Ella Twite will be all right—she'll fall on her feet, you may lay."

But on the afternoon of the fourth day, when Simon was once again scouring the rocky, cliff-fringed beach, he found, washed ashore, the very broken spar with ropes tied to it which he and Dido had used to help them swim to the rock.

Now hope was dead indeed. Simon stood staring at the spar for a long time, as if he expected it to speak and tell him what had happened. Justin, who had come running up to exclaim over it, checked himself, and Dr. Field quietly drew him away; Simon turned and walked off along the shore at top speed as if he hardly knew where he was going.

"Eh, dearie dear!" said Mrs. Buckle distressfully. "Young folks allus takes things so hard. Poor lad. Poor lad. I daresay the little lass was nothing much, wi' those parents—still, I'm sorry I said what I did about Ella Twite. Shouldn't you go after him, Dr. Field?"

"Best leave him to get over it by himself," Dr. Field said, looking after Simon with concern on his kind face.

Simon was gone a long time; he made the complete circuit of the island, and did not return to Mrs. Buckle's until the rising tide and gathering dark warned him that he must delay no longer. It was bitter cold; a few flakes of snow stung against his face and the foam wreaths on the sand were beginning to be crisp with frost.

As he approached Mrs. Buckle's hut, crunching over the shingle, Justin ran out and caught hold of his arm.

"Hurry, Simon! There's another ship in! Mrs. Buckle says it's Dark Dimity—putting in beyond the headland. They've lowered a boat!"

"Ah, there you are, Simon my boy!" Dr. Field was as excited as Justin. "I was about to come in search of you. It's best we all stay together. I daresay the scoundrels want to ask for news of Dark Dew. Maybe we can somehow turn this to our advantage. Do you boys hide behind a rock, for they don't know you're here. Mrs. Buckle, come with me."

He strode down to the landing place—a natural rock jetty shelving into deep water—and the boys crouched down in the dusk, listening to the splash of oars.

While they searched for Dido, Dr. Field and Simon had exchanged their stories. Simon learned that, as he had guessed, Dr. Field had overheard the conspirators in Rose Alley discussing a scheme to murder the Duke of Battersea by setting fire to his opera box. Full of indignation, he had rushed impetuously into their midst, shouting, "Traitors! Assassins! Miserable wretches!" and had been outnumbered, overpowered, and haled off to the Dark Dew, which happened to be in port at the time.

"I suppose I was lucky to be marooned on Inchmore and not tied into a parcel and dropped into the river off Wapping Stairs," he remarked. "But I should soon have become devilish bored here—the light in winter isn't good for painting. And Mrs. Buckle, kind soul though she is, I find beyond anything tedious. I've been longing for a chat with old Furrneaux or a game of chess with the Duke. Only fancy your being his nephew, Simon—though I thought all along you must be related, as soon as I had a sharp look at that Rivière painting. (I'm glad to hear you've cleaned it, by the way.) Bless me—" he burst out laughing, "bless me, what a shock it must have been to Buckle and the Twites when, no sooner had they got rid of me, than you turned up, an orphan from the Poor Farm at Loose Chippings, spit image of Simone Rivière and with a gift for painting. Of course they knew I was expecting a boy, but they couldn't have known who you'd turn out to be."

"There's Sophie, too," Simon said. "I hope she's not in dreadful danger. If Buckle realizes—We must get back as soon as we possibly can. Who knows what may be happening while we are here?"

Now the boys could hear the creak of oars in rowlocks, and there came a hail from the boat: "Is that you, Field? Stand where we can see you and keep your arms raised above your head, or you'll get a dose of medicine you don't like and it'll take the form of lead! You too, Mrs. Buckle! We want you to answer some questions."

"Oh, Elijah Murgatroyd!" quavered Mrs. Buckle. "How can you be so wicked, threatening a poor defenseless woman with one o' them horrid guns; put it away, now, do! Guns are never allowed in my nurs—"

"Stow your gab, Dolly Buckle!" the voice said, sounding more human. "Now then, Dr. Field, speak up. Has the Dark Dew put in here this week?"

"If we tell you, will you give us a passage to the mainland?"

"Not on your Oliphant! Captain Dark would have my guts for garters if I did."

"No he wouldn't," Dr. Field said calmly. "The Dark Dew went down with all hands in the storm three days ago. Burnt out—the crew were drunk at the time—split on a rock, and broke up."

"Is that the truth?" The voice sounded incredulous.

"True as I stand here."

Simon heard a muttered discussion in the dinghy: "Reckon it could be the truth, Cap'n Murgatroyd?" "Could be—dear knows there's enough liquor and loose screws aboard Dark Dew—if it ain't, where in tarnation is the brig?" "Dolly Buckle may have thought up this tale." "Maybe; I'm not taking any chances yet, that's suttin. Dr. Field!" the voice went on.

"Well?"

"Have you any remedies for quinsy?"

"Quinsy? I usually give ipecac—" Then the doctor checked himself and asked instead, "Who has quinsy?"

"Two of my men on board have it, mortal bad."

"You'd best let me look at them," Dr. Field said, while in the same breath Mrs. Buckle cried, "Beef tea, beaten egg in hot milk, and cocoa! Oh, the poor fellows, lying sick on that nasty ship without a woman's care! Let me aboard to nurse 'em, Elijah, do!"

Captain Murgatroyd and his mate conferred in low tones. Presently Murgatroyd said, "No harm if you come aboard for the night, I suppose. We was going to heave-to till tomorrow anyway. But no nonsense, mind! You're not coming away with us. Dolly Buckle can make a quart or so o' beef tea and cocoa, and that'll last the men till they're better."

"I'd best dose you all while I'm at it," Dr. Field said. "Quinsy is highly infectious. I'll have to get my medicines."

One of the men accompanied Dr. Field, the other assisted Mrs. Buckle to carry eggs, goat's milk, and spirits of rhubarb to the dinghy. Presently it pulled away with its cargo and the two boys stole back to Mrs. Buckle's hut and settled down for the night, Justin to sleep peacefully, Simon to toss and turn in wakeful misery, thinking of Sophie and Dido.

Early next morning he rose and looked out. A thin snow was falling and beginning to lie on heather and rocks. Dark Dimity was still anchored in the bay, and a dinghy was pulling toward the shore. Unsurprised, he saw that its sole occupant was Dr. Field. Simon woke Justin and the two boys ran to the jetty.

"Doped the lot of 'em," said Dr. Field, grinning cheerfully as he shipped his oars and indicated two men sprawled on the bottom boards. "They're all sleeping like babies. Help me get these beauties ashore and then we'll go back for some more."

"How did you do it?" Simon asked.

"A species of seaweed that's common on the rocks here is a powerful soporific. I ate some myself one month, when Dark was a bit slow bringing the groceries; put me into a deep sleep for two days; Mrs. Buckle thought I'd stuck my spoon in the wall. Woke up feeling fit as a fiddle, though. So I dried and powdered a lot; thought it would come in useful if ever I got back into practice. Yes, that's right, drag them into the hut."

"Won't they be surprised to wake up and find we've gone off and left 'em!" giggled Justin, delighted at the neatness and simplicity of the plan. He helped Simon ferry over the rest of Dark Dimity's crew, two by two, with a few supplies. ("We must be humane, after all," Dr. Field said. "We'll tell the Preventives about them when we land, and they can come and fetch 'em to jail.")

Mrs. Buckle meanwhile, scandalized at the disreputable condition of the ship, had been scrubbing decks and polishing brasswork; she would even have attempted to wash and mend the dirty, ragged sails, had there been any soap, and had not Dr. Field dissuaded her.

"There'll be work enough sailing the ship to land," he warned her. "I've kept the two men with quinsy; they're still too weak to give trouble. They can take it in turns steering while the boys and I handle the sails, if you'll keep guard over them with a gun, Mrs. Buckle."

"What, me touch one o' them nasty things? I'd as lief blow me head off!"

But when she found it was not loaded and was to be used merely as a threat, Mrs. Buckle agreed. The Dark Dimity, being on the return journey from Hanover, was loaded down to her marks with pistols, Pictclobbers, gunpowder, and bullets.

The two sufferers from quinsy quailed at the sight of Mrs. Buckle nervously waving a blunderbuss, and were only too anxious to obey Dr. Field's orders, the more so when he told them they should go free if the Dark Dimity arrived safely at the port of Chipping Fishbury.

Shortly after noon the Dark Dimity weighed anchor, with one of the two invalids steering while Dr. Field and the boys worked the capstan. As the brig left the shelter of the island her sails slowly filled with wind. They had all been too busy to notice the weather, but now Simon realized that it was snowing fast; the flakes streamed past him in ribbons of white, blown by a knife-edged wind from the northeast; when he looked back, presently, from his perch in the rigging (for they had already found it necessary to reef some sails) he saw that Inchmore was no more than a white bump amid the threatening waves.

"It's a good thing we built up the fire before we left," Dr. Field said. "Those men are going to be feeling cold by the time they wake up. This wind is exactly what we need; we can run before it all the way to Chipping Fishbury."

He rubbed his hands in satisfaction, stamping his feet on the snow-covered deck to warm them. "Mrs. Buckle! I don't think those two men will give any trouble now. How about putting your blunderbuss away and going to the galley to make us all some of your excellent hot beef-tea?"