"So you could not get away?"

"No, and we'd got nothing to eat but chocolate creams and
periwinkles, and Armie wouldn't look at them, and I don't think I
could while they were alive. So I hoisted a signal of distress, made
of my tie, for we'd lost our pocket-handkerchiefs. I was afraid they
would think we were pirates, and not venture to come near us, for
we'd only got black flags, and it was a very, very long time, but at
last, just as it got a little darkish, and Armie was crying—-poor
little chap-—that steamer came by that always goes between Porthole
and Kyvemouth on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I hailed and I hailed, and
they saw or heard, and sent a boat and took us on board. The people
all came and looked at us, and one of them said I was a plucky little
chap; he did, mother, and that I'd the making of an admiral in me;
and a lady gave us such a jolly paper of sandwiches. But you see the
steamer was going to Porthole, and the captain said he could not
anyhow put back to Kyve, but he must take us on, and we must get back
by train."

Mother Carey understood this, for the direct line ran to Porthole,
and there was a small junction station whence a branch ran to
Kyvemouth, from which Kyve St. Clements was some three miles distant.

"Were you carried on?" she asked.

"Well, yes, but we meant it," said Jock. "I remembered the boat.
I knew father would say we must buy another, so I asked the captain
what was the price of one, for Armine and I had each got half-a-
sovereign."