Turly stood looking at it, and Terry was soon beside him.

"It doesn't look a very busy boat," said Turly. "It has neither sails nor oars; it looks quite out of practice."

"I suppose it is getting a rest," said Terry.

"Boats don't get tired. I think there must be something the matter with it. I'll just get in and see what is wrong."

The next moment he was in the boat.

"I don't see anything wrong," said Turly. "It's a very nice boat. Jump in, Terry! It's awfully good fun to be in a boat."

"It waggles," said Terry, "and if I fall in there will be a fuss. I think Nurse is tired of changing our clothes. But there, I'll pull it up close by the rope. All right!" and Terry was also in the boat.

"We can pretend we are on a voyage," said Turly. "What country would you like to discover? America, or Robinson Crusoe's Island?"

"Oh, those were discovered long ago!" said Terry. "I would rather have quite a new island. If it wasn't it wouldn't be discovering, you know."

"I want a new continent," said Turly. "If I discover anything it must be a continent; islands are not up to much."

"But there are no more continents to discover, Turly."

"So they said before America," said Turly.

"But nothing more is on the map; Miss Goodchild says so."

"She'll have to make new maps, then," said Turly, "after we have come back from our voyages."

They pottered about in the boat for a while, talking make-believe out-on-the-ocean talk, hauling sails and working the helm. Turly was captain, and Terry had to be the entire crew. At last Turly said:

"We don't sail a bit; we only joggle. Do you think I might untie the rope?"

"No, no!" cried Terry; "we're only pretending. You know we have neither oars nor sails."

"I suppose it is better not," said Turly, as a healthy sensation of hunger reminded him that he could hardly return from discovering a new continent before dinner.

However, the rope, as if it resented having been interfered with in doing its duty, now played them an unkind trick. It loosened from the ring of its own accord, and the boat, with the children in it, drifted away from the rocks.

The tide was going out, and the even waves carried the little bark far from land in the course of a very few minutes.

Turly burst out laughing, but Terry turned very white as she realized what had happened.

"Turly, Turly, don't dance about like that, or you will upset the boat! We're going out to sea, and we can't get back again!" Turly looked around and saw that she was right, but did not like to confess so much.

"Of course we're going out to sea," he said, "but why shouldn't we come back again?"



"What's to bring us back?" said Terry. "We've no oars or sails, and if we had we're not big enough to use them."

"The tide is going out," said Turly, "and it's taking us. When it begins to come in it will bring us back."

"Oh, it won't come back for hours and hours! And how can we tell where we are going?"

Turly was quiet now, and came to sit with Terry in the bottom of the boat.

"It's the only way to keep it steady," said Terry. "Let us ask God to take care of us!"

"Of course He will; He walked on the sea. Aren't we silly not to have thought of that before?"

They both slipped on their knees and cried out loudly:

"God! God! Come to us and bring us back to shore!"

Still the boat kept drifting away outward, while the shore they had left got farther and farther into the distance.

They were very cold by this time, but fortunately the day remained calm and clear, and there were still some hours to come of winter daylight.

At last, after a period that seemed to them a whole day long, Turly turned his head and gave a wild shout of triumph.

"Hurrah!" he cried; "here's my continent."

Terry looked round, and there, truly, was land on the other side of them to which their backs had been turned while they were straining their eyes towards home.

"It's an island," said Terry. "Nurse often said there were islands out here. How are we going to catch on to it?"

"The tide is taking us slap up against it," said Turly. A few minutes later they went bang into a rock; the boat made a somersault, flung the children high and dry, and "ran off with itself, laughing", as Turly said afterwards.

When they were able to pick themselves up, and to look around, they perceived that the rock on which they were perched was right in the little harbour of an island. There was still daylight enough to see the houses on the island and the people walking about the beach. No one noticed them for some time, and at last they took off their hats and waved them, and shouted.

Then they saw a man in the dress of a fisherman look up and stand staring at them as if he did not believe they were human children.

"I suppose he thinks we're mermaids," said Terry. "I hope he won't, because then he might leave us here all night."

"We haven't got fishes' tails," said Turly; "anyone could see that. I don't believe he's such a stupid. See, he's pointing us out to another man! Oh, they'll come for us in a boat! And then it will be fun to have discovered an island."

"I think it's quite an old island," said Terry. "We haven't discovered it."

"Now don't you go and spoil things," said Turly. "I mean to discover it."

They soon saw that the fishermen were really coming for them, and not a bit too soon, for the tide was rising round their rock, and, besides, they were so cold and hungry that their courage was nearly exhausted.

"Now, will ye tell me where did the pair of ye come from?" said one of the men. "Is it down out of heaven ye are, or up out of the sea? By my word I'm not sure at all about takin' the like o' ye into my boat."

"Hold your tongue, man," said the other. "Don't you see the childher's teeth are chatterin' out of their heads with the cold. Come in here, little lady and gentleman, and then ye can tell us what bad ship threw you out of it to where ye are."

"It wasn't a ship; it was a boat," said Turly. "And it was a queer boat. First it ran away with us, and then it threw us out and made off with itself."

"We got in to look at it only," said Terry. "It was tied to a rock, and the rope got loose and the tide carried us away."

"Well then, but some poor body's blessin' was over ye, or ye weren't here," said the first man. "It's three miles from main shore, and there's a storm comin' on."

"We called God," said Terry.

"It's good for ye that ye did," said the man. "Thank Him now that ye've got your feet on dry land again."

They had scarcely touched the shore when the storm began to whistle, and soon to roar, and big waves hurled themselves on the island. It was quite certain they could not return to Trimleston that night. One of the fishermen took them home to his own cabin, where there was a good fire of turf, and a kind woman and some little children. They got a good supper of potatoes and herrings, which, after their long fast, was found to be most delicious.

The little fisher-children came round them, smiling at them, examining them all over, touching their clothes. They had never seen anything so nice as this little lady and gentleman. There were six little fishermen and fisherwomen, all in red flannel frocks and bare feet. Nonie, the eldest, who was eight years old, could not cease admiring the strangers.

"Where were ye?" she asked suddenly, after a long, worshipful silence, with her eyes fixed now on Terry and now on Turly.

"Oh! isn't she sweet?" cried Terry. "What do you mean, Nonie?"

"Where were ye before?" stammered Nonie.

"Oh, miss," said the mother, laughing, "she wants to know where ye live, for she never seen the like o' ye before!"

"We live over on the other shore, in a big house, Nonie; and I hope you will come to see us there. I'm sure Gran'ma will want you to come."

And then, when she thought of what Gran'ma at that moment was doing, Terry broke down and began to cry bitterly.

"Oh, Mrs. O'Neill, you don't know how dreadful it will be when we haven't come home, and nobody knows what has become of us!"

"Well, dearie, as soon as ever the storm goes down a bit, it's Peter O'Neill that'll be takin' you home to her."

"It's worse for me, you know, Mrs. O'Neill, because Turly is a boy; and, besides, I am older. I am always getting into scrapes though I don't mean it, and I suppose I must have gone wrong this time too."

"No, you didn't," said Turly; "I got into the boat and I made you come to me."

"I oughtn't to have got in," said Terry, "I ought to have pulled you out."

"Then we should both have been drowned," said Turly, "for I should have pulled and kicked, I know I should, and the boat would have gone over on top of us."

"Oh, poor Gran'ma!" cried Terry.

"I tell you Nursey will pretend we're in bed," said Turly; and Terry grasped at this idea and took a little comfort from it, remembering Nancy's many successful little plots for screening the children and saving her dear lady from anxiety and disturbance.

The beds in the fisherman's house were only of straw done up in bags, and the bed-clothes were very light, but the children slept soundly and found everything as comfortable as possible. Terry was wakened by a little kid licking her face, and started up in great astonishment and delight. It was a pet kid, and had rushed into the house as soon as the door was opened.

The breakfast was potatoes and goat's milk. The little fisher-children ate with them, and were very merry as they peeled their potatoes and sipped the milk from their tin mugs. But Terry and Turly could scarcely understand what they said, even when they spoke English.

"What are they saying, Mrs. O'Neill?" asked Terry, completely puzzled, while Nonie and her little brothers and sisters chattered to one another.

"Sure it's Irish they're talkin'," said their mother. "It's what we always talk together, and anything else comes strange to them."

"Irish? But we are Irish too. Why don't we talk Irish?" cried Terry.

Here Peter O'Neill came and said that the weather was looking better, and the boat was ready, and if the little lady and gentleman would come, he would take them across that bit of sea home to their Granny.

The children felt it hard to leave the island and their new friends without having seen more of them, but the thought of Gran'ma's pain of mind and Nurse Nancy's misery hurried them off, and they were soon in the boat. This was a very different crossing from the last, seeing that they were cared for by two stout fishermen, and pulled along by four strong oars.

"But, after all, God did very well for us, now didn't He, Mr. O'Neill?" said Terry.

"He did the next thing to a miracle," said O'Neill; "but you'd better not be doin' any more thricks behind your Gran'ma's back, or maybe God would turn round and punish ye."

"I won't; indeed, indeed, I never will," said Terry.

Meanwhile poor Nurse Nancy had spent a dreadful day and night since Bridget had rushed home to her with the news that the children had disappeared and were not to be found. All the evening and through the night men were out searching for them in every direction. No one noticed the disappearance of the boat till next morning, and it was feared that the children had fallen down some steep rocks, and had either been killed by the fall or drowned. Bridget was nearly out of her senses, knowing that she had neglected the children; and poor old Nancy was so ill from the shock and fear that she would perhaps have died, only that she had Madam to think of.

When Granny's tea-time came and the children did not appear, Madam naturally asked what was delaying them.

"Oh, then, indeed, madam, you mustn't expect to see them to-night! They've been gettin' into mischief, and I can't bring them here to you."

Gran'ma was shocked.

"Now, Nancy," she said, "are you not too severe upon them, and for the first fault? They have been doing so beautifully."

"Well, madam, I beg you'll leave them to me," said Nancy, making a great struggle to speak as if nothing had happened worse than seemed from her words. "I hope it will be all right with them to-morrow, and then they can come in and ask your pardon."

"What did they do, Nancy?" asked Madam.

"Oh, they'll tell you themselves, I hope," said poor Nancy, striving to satisfy her mistress without telling a positive untruth.

So the dear old lady went to sleep that night without having suffered anything worse on the children's account than a little regret that they had been punished by having their tea in the nursery, and being sent to bed early.

Nancy could not rest, but spent the night wandering up and down the avenue and on the road, watching for the return of messengers, who were continuing the search about the rocks and all over the country, with the help of lanterns. But day broke without bringing any sign of the children.

At last, in the dawn, the owner of the runaway boat came down to the beach and missed his property. In an instant the truth flashed on him. The children and the boat must have gone away together.

He sent for Walsh and Lally, who had just returned from different quarters, hoping to hear when they arrived at the house that the children had already got home.

"They're drowned," said the man. "My boat's gone with them, and where would it be but to the bottom of the sea in that storm?"

"Then you may go up to the house yourself with that news," said Walsh; "for it's not me that's goin' to carry it."

"Nor me," said Lally.

The three men stood gazing out to sea with tears in their eyes. Bridget, looking as white as a ghost, appeared and joined them.

"Nancy has to stay with Madam," she said. "She's at her wits' end to know what to tell her next. For heaven's sake, is there no news at all from anywhere?"

The men looked at her. They did not like to say, "It's your fault", so they only shook their heads.

Presently Walsh said:

"There's a boat missin'."

Bridget screamed, and began to beat her breast and clap her hands.

"Whisht! will you," said the boatman. "We're bad enough without that. Give us peace to think a bit. If they were drowned they would ha' been washed in by this. The early tide would ha' brought them, for the boat couldn't carry them far without upsettin'."

"I'll run away! I'll run away!" shouted Bridget.

"Run then," said Lally. "It isn't you we're thinkin' of, but the poor ould lady, and the father and mother that's out in Africa."

At this moment a white speck appeared on the sea. A ray of sunlight had struck across the twilight and made it visible; then something larger and darker was seen behind it moving with it.

"Would it be a boat?" said Lally, as all eyes were strained watching this appearances.

"Then you may well ask, for a boat it is!" said the boatman. "If it isn't the angels that's bringin' them childher home, by my word, I don't know what it is!"

A few more minutes of eager watching assured them that Terry and Turly were returning, if not visibly in the custody of angels, at least in the care of two sturdy oarsmen, who were pulling towards the shore.

As they came near enough to be well seen and heard the children stood up in the boat and cheered and waved their handkerchiefs to their friends. Bridget waited for no more, but ran with the good news to the House.

Poor old Nancy had made an excuse to get away from Madam for a few minutes and was leaning against the door-post, scarcely able to stand, and with a face of the most intense misery. When she saw Bridget running towards her, waving her apron, she knew the news must be good.

"They're all right!" screamed Bridget, ever so far away. "They're comin'! They're comin'!"

Hearing this, Nurse Nancy first of all knelt down in the hall and thanked God. Next she went back to Madam and told her that she thought the children had been punished enough, and should be allowed to come to her as usual at tea-time. She was not a minute too soon with the news, for Granny had already begun to get a little suspicious and uneasy.



In a very short time afterwards Terry and Turly came racing up the avenue and into the house and up the stairs in search of Nurse Nancy, who brought them into the nursery and cried over them, and was far too happy at seeing them again to think of scolding them.

The children cried too, and told her their adventures.

"Oh, Nursey, dear," said Terry, "this is really the last time we'll ever do anything wild! We should have been drowned, only God took care of us. We will never do wild things again, I assure you."

"Not till the next time," said Nurse Nancy grimly; but this was the nearest approach she made to scolding.

In the midst of this little scene Granny's bell rang violently, and Nurse Nancy hastened away to see what was the cause of the unusual sound.

"Nancy!" cried Madam, "let me see the children immediately. I have wonderful news for them. Their father and mother will be here with us to-night!"

Very soon Terry and Turly were dancing round Granny in delight, all trouble forgotten, and nothing thought of but the joy that was in store for them. All the house was in a bustle of preparation. Fires were lighted in rooms that had been deserted, and the maids went about making everything look cheery and pretty. Cook came up to Granny's room to take orders for the evening dinner, and Terry and Turly were to be permitted to dine with the grown people.

In due time the father and mother arrived, both quite young people, and looking more like the grown-up brother and sister of Terry and Turly than their parents. That was a delightful evening when all were gathered round the fire in Granny's room, and the children, one on Father's knee and the other in Mother's arms, listened to stories of many a "happening thing", in which they seemed to share without getting into disgrace.

It was some time before Mother learned all the curious adventures of her girl and boy at Trimleston House, only a few of which have been taken note of and preserved for this book. Terry told her all.

"Well," she said, "I am now going to stay at home and take care of my children. They shall ride with me, walk with me, play with me, and I will teach them their lessons myself. I think they are too full of wild life and spirits to be manageable by either schoolmistress or governess. Give me two years, Granny, and see what I shall make of them."

"Don't make them too well-behaved, my dear," said good old Madam, looking wistfully at the little group of happy faces. "I have found them charming in these holidays. If there was any trouble, Nancy did not tell me."

"Nursey had an awful time with us!" said Terry, shaking her head.

"And oh, Mother," cried Turly, "if we are going to have lessons, will you have Nonie over from the island to teach us Irish?"

"What island?" asked Granny. "And who is Nonie?"

Then the story of the runaway boat had to be told for the first time to Granny, who cried a little, but said she would not fret about it now, as Father and Mother were happily come home.

THE END