They had not time to do much climbing to-day, however, but they satisfied themselves that the face of the cliff did not present any very terrible difficulties, and they determined to ride over by themselves soon and have another preparatory scramble. “The worst thing is, though,” said Phil, when at last they had turned their backs on the coast and were trotting quietly along in the direction of home, “that David says the birds always choose the most difficult places possible for their nests. Most of them build in places we couldn’t get at anyhow without ropes and all kinds of things; but some aren’t so bad, and there always are young birds hatched among those ledges every year, only the old birds are very fierce, and it isn’t always easy to rob them.” Nevertheless, and in spite of all difficulties, the three children were quite determined that, when the right season came on, they would visit together one of those craggy coves, and not return without a prize of eggs and young birds from the nests of the sea-gulls. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIV. AUTUMN DAYS. SUMMER merged into autumn almost before any one was aware of the change, and with the advance of the season came changes in the life of little Bertie. The Arbuthnot boys went back to school, and Sir Walter took his wife and little daughter away to Scotland, where he possessed a shooting-box, and Queenie told her playfellow that she did not know when they would be back, for her mother had talked of paying a round of visits during the winter months, and, unless they came home for the boys’ Christmas holidays, it was quite possible they might remain away in one place or another until the spring came round again. Queenie was pleased and excited at the thought of all the changes and amusements in store for her. She had been used to a London life, and had thought the country just a little dull. She liked the idea of going about with her parents and paying visits at country houses, for she always made her way wherever she went, and was quite a pet and plaything to grown-up people, to whose company she was well used. So she talked a good deal of anticipated delights, and pitied “poor Bertie” a good deal, wondering whatever he would find to do all through the long winter months, with nobody to play with “except that fisher-boy, David.” Bertie, however, did not seem at all put out by the prospect of his loneliness, as depicted by Queenie. He smiled when she pitied him, and said,— “Oh, never mind me; I shall be quite happy. I don’t mind being alone. Besides, there is always the Squire, you know.” “But he doesn’t play with you.” “No,” answered Bertie, with his grave smile, “he doesn’t play;” and then the little boy smiled again, as if such an idea amused him. “And he doesn’t talk much either, does he?” “No, not much.” “And you don’t see him often?”