grass and the goats, and a gleam of hope sprang up within her.

"O Dick, we are close to the island," she said. "I had quite forgotten.
We must clamber over the rocks and get there; and, Dickie darling, even
if your foot hurts, you will be brave."

"I will be brave, Susie," said Dick.

The rocks were slippery, and the seaweed popped under their feet like
little guns; but jumping, slipping, clinging together, they reached the
foot of the island, and then began the difficult scramble upwards. Dick
hung heavily on to Susie's skirt, and his little feet were torn and
bruised. But Susie's courage was the courage of hope, not of despair. She
lifted him over difficult places, and clung to edges of the cliff where
it seemed as if even the seagulls had not room to stand. Once she found a
narrow track, but she lost it again in the darkness, and still she felt
the splash of the waves and heard the startled birds crying overhead.
Never, never had Susie been so tired; but those pursuing waves chased her
up, and by-and-by she felt dry crags under her feet, and then welcome
grass--wet with rain, not sea.

Drawing long, sobbing breaths, Susie sank down and drew Dickie into her
arms. In the far, far distance little lights were twinkling in the town,
and Susie's heart gave a passionate leap; it wanted to annihilate time
and space, and carry her home.

"Mother, mother, mother!" she cried under her breath.

Dick was wet and tired, but he was too excited to lie still. He lay in
the hollow of Susie's lap, with his wet feet curled up into her skirt,