“But she talks,” said Francis. “Why not?” said Bernard placidly. “Even parrots do that.” “But she talks English,” Mavis urged. “Well,” said Bernard, unmoved, “what would you have had her talk?” And so, in pretty sunshine, between blue sky and good sands, the adventure of the Mermaid seemed to come to an end, to be now only as a tale that is told. And when the four went slowly home to dinner all were, I think, a little sad that this should be so. “Let’s go around and have a look at the empty barrow,” Mavis said; “it’ll bring it all back to us, and remind us of what was in it, like ladies’ gloves and troubadours.” The barrow was where they had left it, but it was not empty. A very dirty piece of folded paper lay in it, addressed in penciled and uncertain characters TO FRANCE TO BE OPENED. Francis opened it and read aloud: “I went back and she came back and she wants you to come back at ded of nite. RUBE.” “Well, I shan’t go,” said Francis. A voice from the bush by the gate made them all start. “Don’t let on you see me,” said the Spangled Boy, putting his head out cautiously. “You seem very fond of hiding in bushes,” said Francis. “I am,” said the boy briefly. “Ain’t you going—to see her again, I mean?” “No,” said Francis, “I’ve had enough dead of night to last me a long time.” “You a-going, miss?” the boy asked. “No? You are a half-livered crew. It’ll be only me, I suppose.” “You’re going, then?” “Well,” said the boy, “what do you think?” “I should go if I were you,” said Bernard impartially. “No, you wouldn’t; not if you were me,” said Francis. “You don’t know how disagreeable she was. I’m fed up with her. And besides, we simply _can’t_ get out at dead of night now. Mrs. Pearce’ll be on the lookout. No—it’s no go.” “But you _must_ manage it somehow,” said Kathleen; “you can’t let it drop like this. I shan’t believe it was magic at all if you do.” “If you were us, you’d have had enough of magic,” said Francis. “Why don’t you go yourselves—you and Bernard.” “I’ve a good mind to,” said Bernard unexpectedly. “Only not in the middle of the night, because of my being certain to drop my boots. Would you come, Cathay?” “You know I wanted to before,” said Kathleen reproachfully. “But how?” the others asked. “Oh,” said Bernard, “we must think about that. I say, you chap, we must get to our dinner. Will you be here after?” “Yes. I ain’t going to move from here. You might bring me a bit of grub with you—I ain’t had a bite since yesterday teatime.” “I say,” said Francis kindly, “did they stop your grub to punish you for getting wet?” “They didn’t know nothing about my getting wet,” he said darkly. “I didn’t never go back to the tents. I’ve cut my lucky, I ’ave ’ooked it, skedaddled, done a bunk, run away.” “And where are you going?” “_I_ dunno,” said the Spangled Boy. “I’m running _from_, not to.” CHAPTER SIX _The Mermaid’s Home_