Little Folk

Evening Post, Volume CV, Issue 142, 16 June 1923, Page 18

Little Folk

(All Rights Reserved.) No. 47, SILVER ISLAND (Written for "The Post" by Edith Howes.)

CHAPTER XII.

It was a still morning, so still that the Inlet looked like glass. Every rock and tree on the shore was reflected in it as in a mirror, and fallen rata bios-

sonvs, tweaked from their branches by bell-birds in the search for honey, lay like tiny scarlet tassels on its quiet Burface. There was no sun, but the air was very soft and warm, and still with an amazing stillness. The children were fishing, but without success. They rowed frgai point to point of the island, dropping their lines in welltried places, .where usual!}' a, few minutes of_ patient waiting would reward them with a bountiful meal; but this morning they could, catch nothing. Looking down through the clear water, they could see fish, numbers of them, moving slowly among the fringed and fruited seaweeds, but the fish refused to bite. A bait at their very noaes did not tempt them. It was astonishing, and annoying. At last the three, lulled by the soft warmth and the queer quietness of the morning, gave up all effort, and sat silent in the dinghy, dreamily eyeing the glassy water, the floating flowers,, the motionless shores, the low grey sky. The boat scarcely drifted. Though they had learned much in their outdoor life, they Trere not yet weatherwise enough to know that this was the calm before the storm, that the unusual stillness in the air and the languid refusal of the fish to eat were both forewarnings of a change. They had had nearly four weeks of sunny summer weather on their island, sunny weather broken only "by a day of steady rain and a few hour-long showers. Now something different was coming. Big drops splashed down on the ■woodwork of the boat, and a puff of wind sent a ripple trembling through the water. "Rain!" said Enid. "We'd better go home." Jim seized tho oars and began to pull at once, and before they_ reached the little beach the rain was coming down fast, the sky loured black where it had been softly grey, and a wind whipped the Inlet into snowy crests. p Jim tied up the boat, Enid and Wuffles .gathered up the mussels which lay scattered on its floor, and they all retreated to the camp. There they splashed round in the wet for a while, cooking the mussels and some of their smoked fish under the tin fire-roof, and making the oamp t as secure and snug as possible in anticipation of a wet day. After a full but hasty meal they wore glad to strip off their soaked bathing suits and dress in warmer clothing, for the wind was now icy cold and the vain came down in sheets. They sat in their beds, with a book each, all the afternoon.

Lightning played and thunder rolled, and the rain was a deluge. The wind rose higher and higher, lashing the trees to_ fury and tossing the Inlet into mountainous waves that roared their way down to ths open sea, smacking Silver Island as they passed and flinging themselves high against her rocks. There could be no question of a fire; the tin roof was blown away, and the rain was making rivulets about the ground in all directions. For their evening meal the' children had only a few bite of cold smoked fish and fern root.

The storm grew fiercer with the darkness. Rain and wind beaf in upon Enid until she had to leave her tent-ahelter and creep into the little cave between the rocks, and lie there, rolled in her blankets and rug. The boys, sheltered by the big rocks, seemed safe, and presently went to sleep. But later in the night the wind must have veered, for it whipped round in fiercer and fieroer gustß till at last it tore, their overhead covering from its moorings and flapped it with slinging blows into their faces. JThen they, too, took refuge in the little

Sharing their bedding and lying close, they were warm and fairly comfortable hero, and quite sheltered from the storm. But the noise kept them awake. The wind shrieked and tore, brandies crackod and fell, tho rain and Threefold Creek and the sea mingled in one wild roar. Wuffles slipped his hand into Enid's. "Are you frightened?" he whispered. "A little," she whispered back, "but we are quite safe here."

"We should have been better off in Arthur Seymour's cave," eaid Jim. On first finding it he had' suggested living in it, but they had decided that it was too far from, the boat and the sea, and too far to take their blankets and goods; "besides, it isn't as fresh and open as our camp," Enid had argued. For once they were finding the camp too fresh and open.

All night the storm raged, but in the morning there came a lull. The children crept out and looked about them. The sail and the tent-fly'were both blown into the sodden bush, and the whole camp, with the exception of the little cave, ran with water. Threefold Creek was a, raging torrent, the Inlet was a foaming sea, and the beach in their little bay was deep under waves that slapped themselves into the lower bush. And the boat ? The boat was gone ! "It must have sunk !" cried Jim. "Tho water has filled it and it has sunk!" They ran to the edge of the land, where stood the free to which the boat was always _ tied. Round its trunk the rope was atill firmly knotted, but its end. broken and frayed, hung dipping in the water. The boat had not sunk; it had been torn away in the storm! The children looked at one another in dismay. "Now we shall have to stay here for ever!" Wuffles said quietly, and the little speech brought no joy on any face. "The fishing lines wore in her too," Jim said despondently. "We shan't be able to fish."

It began to rain again, and they had to return to their shelter. All day there wore pelting showers, with quieter mtonrals between, and the wind blew incessantly. With the wood they had so carefully stored in the little cavo they managed to make a fire in the 100 of the rocks, and in epite of the drifting smoke they enjoyed a hot meal and were comforted. Then they made everything as shipshape in their cave as they could, so as to give themsolves all the available room, and again turned into their blankets. There was nothing else to do.

(To be continued.)