ISOBEL descended from the headland in the lowest of spirits. To have quarrelled with Belle, even in a just cause, was a disaster such as she had never contemplated, and for a moment she was half inclined to run after her friend and seek a reconciliation at any cost. Her pride, however, intervened; she felt that Belle had really been very rude and unreasonable, while her treatment of Micky was quite unpardonable. She strolled along, therefore, in the direction of the hut instead, trying to wink the tears out of her eyes, and to make up her mind that she did not care. All the Sea Urchins were rushing off to investigate some mysterious black object which they could see bobbing about in the water, and which they hoped might prove to be a porpoise. They called to her to join them, but even the prospect of capturing a sea monster had for the moment no charms, so she shook her head and volunteered instead to stay in the hut and get tea ready for their return. She filled the kettle from a little spring of fresh water, which always ran pure and clear in a small rivulet down the side of the cliff, threw some more drift-wood and dry sea-weed on the fire which the boys had already lighted, then set out the tea things, and taking a piece of chalk, began to amuse herself by drawing upon the wall of the hut the curious letters which she had copied from the stone. She was so absorbed in her occupation that she did not notice a tall figure, who stooped to enter the low doorway, and paused in some astonishment at the scene before him.

"Hullo!" said a voice. "Am I addressing Miss Robinson Crusoe, or is this the outpost of a military occupation? I see a flag flying which is certainly not the Union Jack, and as a late colonel in his Majesty's forces, and a Justice of the Peace, I feel bound to protect our shores from a possible invasion."

Isobel turned round hastily. She recognized the newcomer at once as the owner of the maidenhair fern and the beautiful grounds into which she had so unwittingly trespassed, and noticing his gun, concluded that he must without doubt be the Colonel Smith of whom Cecil Rokeby had spoken, and whom she had also heard mentioned by Mrs. Jackson as a keen sportsman and a magistrate of some consequence in the neighbourhood.

"I'm not Miss Robinson Crusoe," she replied, laughing, "and it's not a military occupation either."

"Perhaps I am in a prehistoric dwelling, then, watching a descendant of the ancient Britons conducting her primitive cooking operations. Or is it an Indian wigwam? I should be interested to know to what tribe it belongs," said the colonel, advancing farther into the hut, and looking with an amused smile at the sand seats, the shelves, the pots, and all the other little arrangements which the children had made.

"No, I'm not an ancient Briton," said Isobel, "and it isn't a wigwam. It's 'Wavelet Hall,' and it belongs to us."

"And who is 'us,' if you will condescend to explain so ambiguous a term?"

"The United Sea Urchins' Recreation Society," said Isobel, rolling out the name with some dignity.

"No doubt it's my crass ignorance," observed the colonel, "but I'm afraid I have never heard of that distinguished order. Will you kindly enlighten me as to its object and scope?" "Why, you see, we're all staying at Silversands," explained Isobel; "so we made ourselves into a club, that we might have fun together, and called it the 'Sea Urchins.' Then we found this desert island that doesn't belong to anybody, so we took possession of it, and built this hut out of the wreck of the old schooner, and it's ours now."

"Is it?" said the colonel dryly. "I was under the impression that the island belonged to me. It is certainly included among my title-deeds, and as lord of the manor I am also supposed to have the rights of the foreshore."

"I don't quite understand what 'lord of the manor' means," said Isobel; "but does the island really and truly belong to you?"

"Really and truly. I keep it for rabbit shooting exclusively."

"Then," said Isobel apprehensively, "I'm very much afraid that we've been trespassing on your land again."

"Not only trespassing, but squatting," returned the colonel, with a twinkle in his eye. "The case is serious. This island has belonged to me and to my ancestors for generations. I arrive here to-day to find it occupied by a band of individuals who, I must say" (with a glance out through the door at the barefooted Sea Urchins yelling in the distance as they hauled up the dead porpoise), "bear a very strong resemblance to a gang of pirates. I am frankly informed by one of their number that they claim possession of my property. I find their flag flying and a fortress erected. The question is whether I am at once to declare war and evict these invaders, or to allow them to remain in the position of vassals on payment of a due tribute."

"Oh, please let us stay!" implored Isobel; "we won't do any harm—we won't, indeed. We're all going home in a few weeks, and then you can have the island quite to yourself again."

"Suppose I were to regard you as surety for the good behaviour of the rest of the tribe," said the colonel: "would you undertake that no rare or cherished plants should be uprooted or any damage inflicted during your tenancy?"

"We wouldn't touch anything," declared Isobel, "we've only taken the blackberries because there are so many of them. I know you're thinking of the maidenhair. Oh, please, is it growing? I do so hope it wasn't spoilt."

"Yes, it's growing. I really don't believe it has suffered very much, after all. I took a look at it this morning, and found the young fronds pushing up as well as if they had never been disturbed."

"I'm so glad!" said Isobel, with a sigh of relief; "I've often thought about it since. It's very kind of you to say we may stay here; it would have seemed so hard to turn out after we'd had the trouble of building the hut."

"But what about the rent?" inquired the colonel; "will you be answerable for its proper payment? I may prove as tough a customer as old Shylock, and insist on my pound of flesh."

"We've very little money, I'm afraid," said Isobel timidly; "we spent all the club funds on buying the kettle and the frying-pan—even what we'd saved up for a feast at the end of the holidays. I've only got threepence left myself, though perhaps some of the others may have more."

"I must take it in kind, then—the sort of tribute that is exacted from native chiefs in Central Africa—though you can't bring me pounds of rubber or elephants' tusks here."

"We could pick you blackberries, if you like them," suggested Isobel; "or get you cockles and mussels from the shore. Sometimes the boys spear flukes. They're rather small and muddy, but they're quite nice to eat with bread and butter if you fry them yourself." "My consumption of blackberries is limited," replied the colonel, "and there seems slight demand for shell-fish in my kitchen. The flukes might have done; but if they are only edible when you fry them yourself, I'm afraid it's no use, for I don't believe my housekeeper would allow me to try. No! I must think out the question of tribute, and let you know. I won't ask a rack rent, I promise you, and I suppose I could distrain on these tea things and the kettle if it were not paid up. The latter appears to be boiling over at this instant."

"So it is!" cried Isobel, lifting it off in a hurry. "I wonder," she continued shyly, "if you would care to have a cup of tea. I could make it in a moment, if you wouldn't mind drinking it out of a tin mug."

"Miss Robinson Crusoe is very hospitable. I haven't had a picnic for years. The tin mug will recall my early soldiering days. I have bivouacked in places which were not nearly so comfortable as this."

He took a seat in a sand armchair, and looked on with amusement while Isobel made her preparations. Something in the set of her slim little figure and the fall of her long straight fair hair attracted him, and he caught himself wondering of whom her gray eyes reminded him. He liked the quiet way she went about her business, and her frank, unaffected manners—so different from Belle's self-conscious assurance.

"Why can't the other child wear a plain holland frock?" he thought. "It would look much more suitable for the sands than those absurd trimmed-up costumes. What a pity she hasn't the sense of this one! Well, it's no use; it evidently isn't in her, and I doubt if any amount of training at a good school will make much difference."

Isobel in the meantime having brewed the tea handed it to him upon the scarlet tray.

"I'm sorry we haven't a cream jug," she apologized. "We always bring our milk in medicine bottles. Do you mind sugar out of the packet? I wish I had some cake, but Mrs. Jackson didn't put any in my basket to-day, and I don't like taking the others' without asking them. I hope it's nice," she added anxiously. "I'm so afraid the water's a little smoked."

"Delicious," said the colonel, who would have consumed far more unpalatable viands sooner than hurt her feelings, and who tried to overlook the fact that the tin mug gave the tea a curious flavour, and the bread and butter was of a thickness usually meted out to schoolboys. "But aren't you going to have any yourself?" "Not now, thank you. I'd rather wait for the others. I promised to have everything ready for them when they came back."

"I see. You're 'Polly, put the kettle on,' to-day, and 'Sukey, take it off again,' also, as they appear to have 'all run away.' No more, thanks. One cup is as much as is good for me. Why, in the name of all that's mysterious, who has been writing these?"

The colonel jumped up and strode to the other end of the hut, having suddenly caught sight of the quaint letters which Isobel had drawn upon the wall.

"I have," replied Isobel simply.

"Then, my dear Miss Robinson Crusoe, may I ask how you came to be acquainted with runic characters?"

"I don't know what they are," said Isobel. "It's very queer writing, isn't it? I was only copying it for fun."

"Where did you copy it from?"

"It's on a stone at the top of the headland."

"This headland?"

"Yes, just above here, but a little farther on."

"Do you mean to tell me there is a stone bearing letters like that on these cliffs?" "Yes; it's a long kind of stone, something like a cross without arms."

"I thought I had walked over every inch of this island, yet I have never noticed it."

"It was quite covered with brambles," said Isobel. "I found it when we were picking blackberries. I had to pull them all away before I could see it."

"If you can leave your domestic cares, I should very much like you to show it to me," said the colonel. "I happen to be particularly interested in such stones."

"I'll go at once," said Isobel, putting the kettle among the ashes, where it could not boil over, and slamming on her hat. "It looks ever so worn and old, but the letters are cut in the stone, like they are on graves."

She led the way up the steep, narrow path which scaled the hill, on to the cliff above, and after a little hunting about, found the brambly spot which had been the scene of her quarrel with Belle.

The owner of the island knelt down and examined the stone intently for some moments.

"To think that I must have passed this place dozens and dozens of times and never have known of its existence!" he said at last. "I have searched the neighbourhood so often for some record of the Viking period. Strange that it should be found now by the chance discovery of a child!"

"Are they really letters, then?" inquired Isobel. "Is it some foreign language?"

"Yes; they are runes, very old and perfect ones. The runic characters were used by our Teutonic forefathers before they learned the Roman alphabet. This stone shows that long, long ago the Northmen have been here."

"The same Northmen who came in their great ships, and burnt the abbey, and killed St. Alcuin at the altar?" asked Isobel, keenly interested.

"Very likely, or their sons or grandsons."

"Why did they write upon a stone here?"

"It was set up as a monument—just like a grave stone in a churchyard."

"But if the Northmen were pagans, why is there a cross carved on the stone?"

"Many of them settled in this country, and became Christians, and turned farmers instead of sea-robbers."

"Perhaps the monks went back to the abbey afterwards and taught them," suggested Isobel. "I always thought they must have felt so ashamed of themselves for running away. They couldn't all be saints like St. Alcuin, but they might do their best to make up."

"No doubt they did. They were brave men in those days, who were not afraid to risk their lives. It is possible that a small chapel may have been built here once, though the very memory of it has passed away."

"Is some one buried here, then?"

"Yes. Put into English characters, the inscription runs: 'Ulf suarti risti krus thana aft Fiak sun sin.' That is to say: 'Black Ulf raised this cross for Fiak his son.'"

"I wish we knew who they were," said Isobel. "The son must have died first. Perhaps he was killed in battle, and then his father would put up this cross. How very sorry he must have felt!"

"Very," said the colonel sadly—"especially if he were his only son. It is hard to see the green bough taken while the old branch is spared."

"My father died fighting," said Isobel softly. "But his grave is ever so far away in South Africa."

"And so is my son's. Death reaps his harvest, and hearts are as sore, whether it is the twentieth century or the tenth. Customs change very little. We put up monuments to show the resting-places of those we love, and a thousand years ago Black Ulf raised this cross that Fiak his son should not be forgotten."

"And he's not forgotten," said Isobel, "because we've found it all this long time afterwards. I didn't know what it meant until you told me. I'm so glad I can read it now. I want to tell mother; she likes old monuments, or any kind of old things."

"She has evidently taught you to think and to use your eyes," said the colonel, "or you would not have copied the inscription, and then I might never have discovered the stone."

"What a pity that would have been!" returned Isobel. "I was very lucky to find it. Do you think it makes up a little for the maidenhair?"

"Completely; though, remember, I didn't blame you for that incident. It was your friends—the same young ruffians, I believe, who are racing up the sands now, dragging some carcass behind them."

"Oh! they're coming back for tea," cried Isobel. "And I forgot all about the kettle! I hope it hasn't boiled away. I ought to go. You haven't told me yet, please, what you would like us to bring you instead of rent for the island. I should like to know, so that I can tell the others."

"I'll take this discovery in lieu of all payment," declared the colonel. "You and your companions, the Sea Urchins, are welcome to have free run of the place while you are here. Good-bye, little friend! You always seem to turn up in exceptional circumstances. You and I appear to have a few interests in common, so I hope that some time I may have the pleasure of meeting you again."