“David,” he said, with a little touch of authority in his tone, not usual with the gentle little boy towards one who was his companion and friend as well as his servant, “you must let me go down to Phil with the rope. I do not think Queenie and I could pull him up by ourselves if he cannot help himself much, and I do not think anybody but you could swing the rope for the other one to catch by and by. I can climb very well, and I am not giddy. You must let me go.” For a few minutes there was a sort of argument between the two boys: David reluctant to let Bertie endanger himself ever so little, Bertie quite convinced that the only way of securing the safety of all was in his plan. Queenie took no part in the talk, only standing by with clasped hands and dilated eyes, wishing, even at this moment when she had so much else upon her mind, that she had never called Bertie a coward, for was he not going to risk his own safety to secure that of Phil? Bertie’s counsel prevailed. Indeed, it was evidently sound, and his quiet determination carried the day. “I am not going after sea-gulls’ eggs,” he said to himself, as he commenced his perilous descent. “I know the Squire would let me go to try and save Phil.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXI. THE MOTHER. WHILST the children away in the Rocky Bay were in the midst of their perilous enterprise, the Squire was sitting alone in his library, quietly engrossed in his books and papers. Visitors so very rarely disturbed him, visitors were almost unknown at the Manor House, and therefore it was with a good deal of surprise that he heard that Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot were in the drawing-room, anxious to speak to him at once. The Squire was much perplexed for a moment even to know who these people could be, but Pritchard, who observed his master’s surprise, added, respectfully,— “Sir Walter’s brother, sir,—Mr. Frederick, as he is often called,—and the lady from Australia whom he has lately married.” The Squire remembered all about it then, for of course he had heard from Bertie and from others of Uncle Fred’s marriage and of his purchase of the adjoining property. He had been pleased to hear of the change, for he had always liked the baronet’s brother; but he had not even heard of his arrival at Arlingham, and he could not imagine what could have brought him and his wife so quickly to the Manor House. However, there they were, and he must go and see them, so he crossed over to the drawing-room without delay. Uncle Fred and his wife were standing with their backs to the door, looking intently at a crayon head of Bertie, that the Squire had lately had taken by a clever young artist in the neighborhood. They both turned round quickly when their host entered, and he saw that the lady’s eyes were full of tears, and that they were soft dark eyes very like Bertie’s own.