So, scrambling and sliding, the two made their way across the rocks, stopping at every rock pool to raise its fringe of weed with careful hands and investigate the wonder of the little world below; sea flowers of every hue, white and green, gray and orange, purple and white and gray and purple again, some smooth and satisfied, others with tentacles greedily awash, that could be induced to suck at a small finger dexterously inserted; sea shells of every contour, some living and clutching at the rock, some cast off and dead, others again protruding alien claws, resurrected to a life of artificial movement by the little hermit crabs whose tails they sheltered; here and there the spiky pink globe of a sea urchin, waiting for the tide to float him off. And in one deep little pot, with sides green like a grotto of ferns, they found a miniature battle. A small green crab, who had cast his shell, sat humped in a recess of the grotto, a thing soft and vulnerable, a delight to the enemy; and in front of him, excited and transparent, were half a dozen shrimps, the horn on each forehead pointed at him; from time to time some young gallant would dash in to prod the helpless monster, and at once backwater again into the ranks of his friends. The crab bore his torment with a patience born of the knowledge that each minute his new carapace was hardening; the shrimps had no wit to count the cost, or reckon the odds that the rising tide might bear them away in safety from the day of vengeance. On hands and knees, not daring to breathe on the limpid surface of the pool, the children watched the little drama. From the cliff top the heated air rose dancing into the sky. So still were earth and air and sea that the old finner's rise sounded as though the cliff were falling. He had worked nearer in to the rocks than seemed possible for his ninety feet of blubber and muscle, and as his black side rolled over, the water about him boiled like a pot; but he did not splash, for he had been well brought up and always knew what his tail was doing, though it was so far away. "Shiver these rocks," he began in a rage, as he flung two fountains out of his nose. Then he caught sight of Fiona and the gleam of the red bracelet. "Oh my fins and flippers!" he spouted. "I ask pardon, young lady; I haven't the manners of a grampus. And they told me about you." "Who's they?" asked Fiona, ungrammatically. "Friends at Court, friends at Court," said the finner. "What a thing to have. 'No need of the old sailorman,' said I. But they said I must go. And I've scraped the barnacles off my precious tail. Will it run to some tobacco?" "Will what run?" said the girl. "Your tail? What is it you want?" "Hints are wasted, I see," said the whale. "'One question,' said I. Only one. But magic is magic, you know, even for a tough old sailorman. Come now, one question. I'm too far inshore for my liking." Fiona understood. "Is it about my treasure?" she said.