SILVER ISLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3613, 12 June 1923, Page 71

SILVER ISLAND.

[All Rights Reserved.] No. 47.

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 blossoms, tweaked from their branches by bell-birds in the search for honey, lay like tiny scarlet tassels on its quiet surface. 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 from point to point of the island, dropping their lines in welltried places, where usually a few minutes cf patient waiting would reward them with a bountiful meal; but this morning they could catch nothing. JLooking 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. n. bait at their very noses did not tempt them. It was astonishing, and annoying. At last the tnree, 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 scarcelv drifted.

Though they had learned much in their outdoor life, they were not yet weatherwise enough to know that this was the calm before the storm, that the unusual stillness of the air and the languid refusal of the fish to eat were both forewarnings of a change. They had had nearly four weeks cf 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. “Rainsaid Enid. “We’d better go home.” Jim seized the oars and began to pull at once, but 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. Jim tied up the boat, Enid and Wuffies 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 camp as secure and snug as possible in anticipation of a wet day. After a full but hasty meal they were glad to strip off their soaked bathing suits and dress in warmer clothing, for the wind was now icy cold and the rain 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 the 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. lor their evening meal the children had only a few bits of cold smoked fish and fern root.

The storm grew fiercer with the darkness. Rain ana wind beat in upon Enid until she had to leave her tent-shelter 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 pre sently went to sleep. But Later in the night the wind must have veered, for it whipped round in fiercer and fiercer gusts till at last it tore their overhead covering from its moorings and flapped it with stinging blows into their faces. Then they, too, took refuge in the little cave.

Sharing their bedding and lying close, they were warm and fairly comfortable here, and quite sheltered from the storm. But the noise kept them awake. The wind shrieked and tore, branches cracked and fell, the rain and Threefold Creek and the sea mingled in one wild roar. Wuffies 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,” said Jim. On first finding it he had suggested living in it, but thev 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 onto

they were finding the camp too fresh and open. All night the storm raged, hut 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 ba.y was deep under waves that slapped themselves into the lower bush. And the boat ? The boat was gone! “It must have sunk!” cried Jim. “The water has filled it and it has sunk! Thev ran to the edge of the land, where stood the tree to which the boat was always tied. Round its trunk the rope was still 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!” Wuffies said quietly, and the little speech brought no joy on any face. “The fishing lines were 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 were pelting showers, with quieter intervals between, and the wind blew incessantly. With the wood they had so carefully stored in the little cave they managed to make a fire in the lee of the rocks, and in spite 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 themselves all the available room, and again turned into their blankets. There was nothing else to do. (To be continued.)