"I wonder you didn’t settle on that in the first place," said Mrs. Romilly, a most reasonable remark. She did not know that Adrian cherished a secret hope to anchor out all night again in Salterne river, whereas Peterock was not the kind of harbour for such pleasures. It was not a harbour at all, in fact, but a lovely watering-place with a pier; within the pier was a makeshift mooring-ground, choked up with various craft. No born sailor would go to Peterock for enjoyment. However, these matters were not within Mrs. Romilly’s knowledge, and Peterock would do quite well for hair-cutting. On finding the start was not immediate Mrs. Romilly made out a list of commissions, and Christobel was too busy hearing about these things to have any more time for the mystery. When she and Pamela went off there was a serene atmosphere. "Doesn’t the dinghy look clean," exclaimed Pamela in warm admiration. "Addie, you’ve scrubbed the whole thing. She’s lovely!" Adrian, who was rowing, looked at his sister quickly. The sincerity of her face was unquestionable. Thus the mystery grew, but Adrian was not ruffled as he had been in the morning. Then, Crow had him at a disadvantage; he could not prove anything; he was forced to feel even foolish in the face of the evidence Christobel brought about the peaceful slumber of the supposed culprits. Now it was different. He was justified by his startling discoveries, and good temper was the result. Christobel looked round as they boarded the yawl, but saw no signs of disorder. All was neat as usual. She and Pamela packed the food into the pantry shelf and set about helping to get the sails up. Poor Pam was very happy. She felt freer than she had done for a long time. Nothing could happen out here. The sea was glorious, and Crow was always the same to her; nothing could come between them, she thought. The breeze was off shore--what is called a "soldier’s wind", which means that it serves without tacking. The tide was strong, the sea, with such a breeze, of course was smooth; it was all as perfect as possible. "The Floweret could have come to-day without being sick," said Pamela, gazing over the shimmering waste with half-shut eyes; "what a pity Midget is left behind." "He looked rather tired," said Crow from her place at the tiller. "Did he; I wonder why. He slept sound enough; he never woke till Keziah called him, and then he went to sleep again," said Pam. Christobel smiled. This was exactly what she had felt sure of, and there was no effort at all in her sister’s way of speaking. The start was excellent, the sailing was perfect; "dull care" seemed to have been left behind in Bell Bay--but one never knows!