for a cloud. In vain! There was no cloud all round that blue horizon,
and behind him the cliffs stood stark against an azure sky. Summer was
lingering, and even he had not the heart to wish her gone.

Something splashed noisily on the other side of the rocky breakwater.
Something squeaked and gurgled. The man frowned. He had tramped a
considerable distance to secure privacy. He had his new novel to think
out. This invasion was intolerable. He had not even smoked the first
pipe of his meditations. Impatiently he prepared to rise and depart.

But in that moment a voice accosted him, and in spite of himself he
paused. "I want to get over the breakwater," said the voice. "There's
such a large crab lives this side."

It was an engaging voice--a voice with soft, lilting notes in it--the
voice of a child.

Courteney's face cleared a little. The grimness went out of his frown,
the reluctance from his attitude. He stood up against the rocky barrier
and stretched his hands over to the unseen owner of the voice.

"I'll help you," he said.

"Oh!" There was an instant's pause; then two other hands, wet, cool,
slender, came up, clasping his. A little leap, a sudden strain, and a
very pink face beneath a cloud of golden hair laughed down into his.
"You must pull," she said; "pull hard!"

Courteney obeyed instructions. He pulled, and a pair of slim shoulders
clad in white, with a blue sailor collar, came into view. He pulled