"Of course," said Pam, leaning with her head back against the deck-house, "of course that was where old Penberthy came in. He didn’t do anything. He was fearfully lazy, but he was a perfect clock for tides." "So shall we be, soon," murmured Adrian peacefully from under the brim of a battered hat, "but anyway what does it matter! We shall be home some day. Great Scot, isn’t this A1!" "It would be if I wasn’t afraid Mother would worry. It’s our first day without anybody, you see----" Christobel suggested this in an apologetic tone. "My good Crow--what do you call anybody, might I ask? Old Pen was simply luggage. And Mollie is only one more hand, naturally. I mean she couldn’t effect a rescue if we went to smash, could she?" "Of course not, but Mother----" "Mother is full of sense," said Adrian with decision, as he sat up and looked about appreciatively. "I never in all my life saw anything more perfect than the colours on the old Beak and Bell Ridge. I wouldn’t have missed this evening for--well--really, Crow, what does time matter? It’s as calm as a plate." That was true, but the skipper’s eye glanced uneasily towards the dipping sun. Hughie, sitting as usual like a small image of contemplation in a comfortable corner of the well, had said nothing, but listened to the argument. "If I was at home I could say to Mum there’s no wind," he suggested. "But you’re not at home; the Floweret can say so," said Adrian. "She won’t. She’ll say ’dear Mrs. Romilly, don’t be anxious’," remarked Hughie with grave assurance. It was so very true that the elders looked at each other and laughed. Then Christobel said humbly: "It’s all my fault. I made sure the tide turned in our favour at five o’clock. That seemed to give us heaps of time to pick up moorings and make all snug by half-past seven." "For any sake, Crow, don’t be in a repentant mood," urged Adrian, "the tide is keeping a pleasant surprise up its sleeve. At present it’s pretending it never comes in at all! Keep it in a good temper whatever happens. It will get tired of the merry jest in two jiffs and remember how jolly and warm the little bays are all along; then it’ll go home in a hurry! Oh, I say--what a coast this is! I don’t believe you can beat it round England anywhere." Adrian thus refused to be roused into worry, but Pamela was sorry for Crow. Crow had such a terribly tender conscience! She pulled herself together and sat upright with a decisive little movement. "Give me the dinghy," she said, "and I’ll go ashore and carry a message. Then, when you get back, the boat will be in the cove all right to take you off. There’s no difficulty about it--it’s as simple as--as anything." "Pam, it’s three miles! You can’t possibly----" Christobel objected. "Oh, my dear--it isn’t. Not nearly three miles even from Bell Bay. What are you thinking of? I don’t believe we are a mile from the Beak. It’s nothing of a row. Just look----"