“Were you?” said Priscilla. “I saw him in his boat as I was going out, with a big load of gravel on board. He says the baby’s all right.” “It may be,” said Peter. “Any way, he said nothing to the contrary when he was with me. It wasn’t the baby we were speaking of. Will you mind yourself now, Miss. That slip is terribly slippery at low tide on account of the green weed that does be growing on it. Take care but you might fall.” The warning came a little too late. Priscilla stepped from the boat and immediately fell forward on her hands and knees. When she rose there was a large, damp green patch on the front of her dress. “Will you look at that, now?” said Peter. “Didn’t I tell you to go easy? Are you hurted, Miss?” “If it wasn’t the new baby you were talking about,” said Priscilla, “what was it?” “Joseph Anthony Kinsella is just after telling me that he’s seen that young fellow that has Flanagan’s old boat out beyond among the islands.” “Which island? I asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me.” “Joseph Anthony didn’t rightly know, but it’s his belief that he’s on Ilaunglos, or Ardilaun, or one of them to the north of Carrowbee.” “He can’t be living there, then. There isn’t a house on any of those islands.” “Joseph Anthony was saying that he might maybe have a tent with him and be sleeping in it the same as the tinkers would. I’ve heard of the like.” “Did he see the tent?” “He did not; but there could be a tent without his seeing it. What I seen myself was the things the young fellow bought in Brannigan’s and put into Flanagan’s old boat. He had a can of paraffin oil with a cork drove into the neck of it, and he’d two loaves of bread done up in brown paper, and he’d a couple of tins that might be meat of one kind or another, and along with them he had a pound of tea and maybe two of sugar. I misdoubted when I saw him carrying them down the quay, but it was some kind of a picnic he was out for. Them kind of fellows has very little sense.” “I expect,” said Priscilla, “that he’ll be drowned before long, and then they’ll find some papers on his body that’ll tell us who he is. I must be off now, Peter, or I’ll be late for the train.” “You’re time enough, Miss. Sure them trains is never punctual.” “They are not,” said Priscilla, “except on the days when you happen to be late for them. Then they make a point of being up to the minute just to score off you.” CHAPTER IV The train, as Priscilla prophesied, was strictly punctual. It was drawn up at the platform when she leaped off her bicycle in front of the station. As she passed through the gate she came face to face with Frank Mannix supported by the station master and the guard. “Hullo!” she said. “You’re my cousin Frank, I suppose. You look rather sick.” Frank gazed at her. “Are you Priscilla?” he asked.