Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."

"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself
out of the hammock and went in for her hat.

We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he
had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from
a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.

"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
Any small cloud on the horizon will do."

"I know it on the map."

"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed.
When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and
you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle of
Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"

We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the
village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of
passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now
trailed eagerly.

"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.

"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one