CAMERON. That iss another thing; for, mark you, Mistress Blake, an island that had visitors would not need to want to be visited--and why has it not visitors? Because they are afraid to visit it. MARY ROSE. Whatever are they afraid of? CAMERON. That iss what I say to them. Whateffer are you afraid of, I say. MARY ROSE. But what are _you_ afraid of, Mr. Cameron? CAMERON. The same thing that they are afraid of. There are stories, ma’am. MARY ROSE. Do tell us; Simon, wouldn’t it be lovely if he would tell us some misty, eerie Highland stories? SIMON. I don’t know; not unless they are pretty ones. MARY ROSE. Please, Mr. Cameron! I love to have my blood curdled. CAMERON. There iss many stories. There iss that one of the boy who was brought to this island. He was no older than your baby. SIMON. What happened to him? CAMERON. No one knows, Mr. Blake. His father and mother and their friends, they were gathering rowans on the island, and when they looked round he was gone. SIMON. Lost? CAMERON. He could not be found. He was never found. MARY ROSE. Never! He had fallen into the water? CAMERON. That iss a good thing to say, that he had fallen into the water. That iss what I say. SIMON. But you don’t believe it? CAMERON. I do not. MARY ROSE. What do the people in the village say? CAMERON. Some say he iss on the island still. SIMON. Mr. Cameron! Oh, Mr. Cameron! What does your father say? CAMERON. He will be saying that they are not here always, but that they come and go. SIMON. They? Who are they? CAMERON (_uncomfortably_). I do not know. SIMON. Perhaps he heard what the birds come to listen to! CAMERON. That iss what they say. He had heard the island calling. SIMON (_hesitating_). How does the island call? CAMERON. I do not know. SIMON. Do you know any one who has heard the call? CAMERON. I do not. No one can hear it but those for whom it iss meant. MARY ROSE. But if that child heard it, the others must have heard it also as they were with him. CAMERON. They heard nothing. This iss how it will be. I might be standing close to you, Mistress Blake, as it were here, and I might hear it, ferry loud, terrible, or in soft whispers--no one knows--but I would haf to go, and you will not haf heard a sound. MARY ROSE. Simon, isn’t it creepy! SIMON. But full of holes, I have no doubt. How long ago is this supposed to have happened, credulous one? CAMERON. It was before I was born. SIMON. I thought so. MARY ROSE. Simon, don’t make fun of my island. Do you know any more ducky stories about it, Mr. Cameron? CAMERON. I cannot tell them if Mr. Blake will be saying things the island might not like to hear. SIMON. Not ‘chancey,’ I suppose. MARY ROSE. Simon, promise to be good. SIMON. All right, Cameron. CAMERON. This one iss about a young English miss, and they say she was about ten years of age. MARY ROSE. Not so much younger than I was when I came here. How long ago was it? CAMERON. I think it iss ten years ago this summer.