"After this comes a nice broken-up bit," she said aloud, to keep herself sensible, "when I go up again, I’ll try farther along. These slippery bits are no use." Having reached the nice broken-up bit aforesaid, she cautiously turned over, and sitting on a big tufty ledge, looked about her. A little smile flickered round her mouth. "One in the eye for Addie," she said, "he declared I couldn’t get up or down the Beak; and it’s worse in a mist." The mist was distinctly thick now. So much so that the top of the headland was out of sight, and the sea was invisible. She was like a very lonely bird in the middle of an ocean of drifting film. Probably this was what the eagles felt like--high, high up on a rocky peak in the clouds. She was not nervous--it was all so very exciting--but it was important to locate the lost one as soon as possible, because time was going rather fast. "Hullo, Reube, call again!" cried Pamela. There was no answer--there had been no cry, she thought, since the "miss" in the beginning. She waited a moment and then tried again. "Reube--I’m close by--I’m come to help you--where are you?" All the birds started to shriek and scream with delirious riot. They rose in a cloud, and circled round and round. It was maddening. "Oh you silly idiots," said Pamela. As the clatter died down into isolated screams, she heard a voice say: "I bean’t afeard o’ birds, Miss." "That’s right, Reube," she spoke in a hearty manner, because the words came in a detached weak tone, as though the speaker made an effort to say them. He must be quite close, she thought. Down she went again, with infinite care, because the surface of everything was greasy with mist that thickened continually. Down and down, and ever the mutter and wash of waves on rock grew more distinct. Then the voice called, with more life in it. "Here, Miss! You do be going too far." Pamela checked and looked round eagerly. _Above_ her, but more to the Ramsworthy side, in the loneliest and most inaccessible bit of the Beak, was a dark heap, a very little heap; and, small as it was, the great part of it consisted of a hump of coarse grass. On the ledge where this grew clung the human part of the heap. "_I_ see you," said Pamela, in a cheerful tone. It was an heroic effort on her part, for, looking at the whole situation, up, down, and round, it was distinctly terrifying. After nearly ten minutes cautious climbing, she came within arm’s length of the child. He was lying on his face, arms grasping a snag of rock at the back of the grass bunch. He had never looked so small to Pamela, and, in an instant, she saw by his face what he had suffered; it was pinched and drawn--stained with tears and dirt. She laughed. Not because she felt like laughter, but because she had neither water nor food, and something must be done to rouse the failing courage--_if_ they were to get up the fog-shielded height that towered above them.