“Not they. You might just as well believe in Peter Walsh’s rats. That leaves us with three different mysteries on hand.” Priscilla hooked her elbow over the tiller and ticked off the three mysteries on the fingers of her right hand. “The sponge lady, whose name may be Miss Rutherford, one. Inishbawn Island, that’s two. The original spies, which makes three. I’m afraid we’ll have to row again. Do you think you can, Cousin Frank?” “Of course I can.” “Don’t be offended. I only meant that you mightn’t be able to on account of your ankle. How is your ankle?” “It’s all right,” said Frank, “That is to say it’s just the same.” No other favouring breeze rippled the surface of the bay. For rather more than an hour, with occasional intervals for rest, Frank tugged at his oar, bumped his back, and was struck on the side of the head by the boom. He was very much exhausted when the Tortoise was at length brought alongside the slip at the end of the quay. Priscilla still seemed fresh and vigorous. “I wonder,” said Frank, “if we could hire a boy.” “Dozens,” said Priscilla, “if you want them... What for?” “To wheel that bath-chair. I can’t walk, you know. And I don’t like to think of your pushing me up the hill. You must be tired.” “That,” said Priscilla, “is what I call real politeness. There are lots of other kinds of politeness which aren’t worth tuppence. But that kind is rather nice. It makes me feel quite grown up. All the same I’ll wheel you home.” She pushed the bath-chair up the hill from the village without any obvious effort. At the gate of the avenue she stopped. Two small children were playing just inside it. A rather larger child set on the doorstep of the gate lodge with a baby on her knee. “What time is it, Cousin Frank?” said Priscilla. “It’s ten minutes past seven.” “Susan Ann, where’s your mother?” The girl with the baby on her knee struggled to her feet and answered: “She’s up at the house beyond, Miss.” “I just thought she must be,” said Priscilla, “when I saw William Thomas and the other boy playing there, and you nursing the baby. If your mother wasn’t up at the house you’d all be in your beds.” She wheeled the bath-chair on until she turned the corner of the avenue and was lost to the sight of the children who peered after her. Then she paused. “Cousin Frank,” she said, “it’s just as well for you to be prepared for some kind of fuss when we get home.” “We’re awfully late, I know.” “It’s not that. It’s something far worse. The fuss that’s going on up there at the present moment is a thunderstorm compared to what there would be over our being late.” “How do you know there’s a fuss?”