The girls at the Dower House were extremely keen upon celebrating, with due ceremony, every festival that was marked in the calendar. They bobbed for apples on All-Hallows Eve, made toffee and let off fireworks on 5th November, tried to revive St. Valentine's fete on 14th February, practised the usual jokes on 1st April, and plaited garlands of flowers on May Day. They had thoroughly enjoyed Life-boat Monday, and now turned their attention to providing adequate rejoicings on Empire Day. All through the winter they had been collecting drift-wood on the beach, and carrying it to the headland to form the huge bonfire which they intended should be a beacon for the neighbourhood. They had built up their pile with skill and science, and, thanks to their heroic exertions, it had reached quite large and important proportions. A kindly wind had dried the wood, so that there was every prospect of its burning well, and Mrs. Trevellyan had promised a large can of paraffin, to be poured on at the last moment before lighting, so as to ensure a blaze. The only flaw in the arrangement was the fact that the sun did not set until past eight o'clock, and that owing to the long twilight it would probably not be really dark until ten, so that the effect of their beacon would be slightly marred.

"If we could have had it at midnight!" sighed Annie Pridwell.

"Yes, that would have been scrumptious, if we could have got people to come. Ronnie wouldn't have been allowed."

"No; Mrs. Trevellyan's making a great concession as it is to let him stop up till nine. It's a pity she's laid up with sciatica, and can't come herself."

"She'll watch it from a window, and Miss Herbert will bring Ronnie."

Mrs. Trevellyan had been extremely kind in the matter of the bonfire; she had given Miss Birks carte blanche in respect to it, and told her to regard the headland as her private property for the evening, and ask any guests whom she wished to join in the celebration. Quite a number of invitations had been sent out to various friends in the neighbourhood, and a merry gathering was expected. Some were to arrive at the school and walk over the warren, and others had decided to come by boat to the little cove directly under the headland, an easier means of getting from Porthmorvan or St. Gonstan's than going round by road.

Naturally, the girls were all at the very tiptop of expectation: even the dignified Sixth betrayed signs of excitement, and Vb was in a state verging on the riotous. To their credit they all accomplished their shortened evening preparation with exemplary quiet and diligence, but once released, and speeding over the warren to the headland, they allowed their overwrought spirits to find relief. They danced ragtimes, sang, halloed, and cooeed, and generally worked off steam, so that by the time they reached the beacon they had calmed down sufficiently to satisfy Miss Birks's standard of holiday behaviour, and not make an exhibition of themselves before visitors.

Already people were beginning to arrive both by land and sea. Miss Birks brought a select party who had motored from Kergoff, and at least half a dozen boats were beached upon the little cove. Ronnie was already on the scene in charge of Miss Herbert, immensely proud of being allowed to sit up beyond his usual bedtime, and running here, there, and everywhere in the exuberance of his supreme satisfaction.

The girls had fixed a stake into the rocks close by, from which a Union Jack floated to give the key-note of the proceedings, and had prepared buttonholes of daisies, the Empire flower, to present to all the guests. They had twisted daisy-chains round their own hats, and even decorated their flagstaff with a long garland, so they felt that they had done everything possible to manifest their loyalty to King George. Mrs. Trevellyan's head gardener had brought the large can of paraffin, and filling a greenhouse syringe from it, began carefully to spray the wood, especially in the places where it was most important for the fire to catch. The company then drew back, and formed a circle at a safe and respectful distance. A thin train of gunpowder was laid down, and under the gardener's careful superintendence Ronnie was allowed the immense privilege of applying a taper to the end. The light flared up, and wound like a fiery snake to the beacon, where, catching a piece of gorse soaked with paraffin, it started the whole pile into a glorious blaze. Up and up soared the flames, roaring and crackling, and making as much ado as if the Spanish armada had been sighted again and it were warning the neighbourhood to arms. The girls could not help starting three cheers, the guests joined lustily, and Ronnie, almost beside himself with excitement, pranced about like a small high-priest officiating at some heathen ceremonial rite.

Miss Birks had added a delightful feature to the celebration by providing a picnic supper. It was of course impossible to hang kettles on the beacon, but the large cauldron had been brought, and was soon at work boiling water to make coffee and cocoa. The girls helped to unpack hampers of cups and saucers, and to arrange baskets of cakes, and when the bonfire had formed a sufficient deposit of hot ashes, rows of potatoes were placed round it to cook, and to be eaten later. It was a very merry supper, as they sat on the short grass of the headland, with the beacon blazing on one hand, and on the other the western sky all glorious with the copper afterglow of sunset. The new moon, like a good omen, shone over the sea, and from far, far away came the distant chime of bells, stealing almost like elfin music over the water. From the beach below came the long-drawn, monotonous cry of a curlew.

"The fairies are calling!" whispered Gerda to Ronnie. "Listen! This is just the time for their dancing—the new moon and the sunset. They'll be whirling round and round and round in the creek over there."

"Really? Oh, Gerda! could we truly, truly see them?"

The little fellow's blue eyes were wide with eagerness. He sprang on his friend's knee, and clutched her tightly round the neck.

"You promised you'd take me!" he breathed in her ear.

"Yes, if you're very quiet, and don't tell. Not a living soul must know but you and me. If anyone else sees us the fairies will all just vanish away. They can't bear mortals to know their secrets."

"But they'll let you and me?"

"Yes, you shall see the Queen of the Fairies, and she'll give you a kiss."

"Oh, do let us go, quick!"

"In a moment. Remember, nobody must notice. Let us walk over there, and pretend we're looking at the flag. Now, come gently round this rock. Hush! We must steal away if we're to find fairies! I believe we're out of sight now. Not a soul can see us. Give me your hand, darling, and we'll run."

It was perhaps a few minutes after this that Miss Herbert, who had been engaged in a pleasant conversation with the curate from Kergoff, missed her small charge.

"Where's Ronnie?" she asked anxiously.

"I saw him just now," said Miss Harding. "He was with the girls as usual. Gerda Thorwaldson had him in tow."

"If he's with Gerda he's all right," returned Miss Herbert, evidently relieved. "She's always so very careful. No doubt they'll turn up directly."

"I expect they're only fetching more potatoes from the hamper," said the curate. "We'll soon hunt them up if they don't put in an appearance."

Deirdre, who was standing near, chanced to overhear these remarks, and, jealous of Gerda's hold over Ronnie, turned in search of the missing pair. They were not by the bonfire, it was certain, nor were they among any of the groups of girls and guests who still sat finishing cups of coffee, and laughing and chatting, Deirdre walked to where the hamper of potatoes had been left, but her quest was still unrewarded. She returned hastily, and calling her chum, drew her aside.

"Gerda and Ronnie have disappeared," she explained briefly. "I don't like the look of it. Gerda has no right to monopolize him as she does. I vote we go straight and find them, and bring them back."

The two girls set out at once, and as luck would have it, turned their steps exactly in the direction where the truants had gone. They ran down the steep hillside behind the flagstaff, till they reached a broad terrace on the verge of the cliff overhanging the cove where the boats were moored. Ronnie was so fond of boats that they thought he had perhaps persuaded Gerda to take him to the beach to look at them.

Advancing as near to the edge as they dared, they peeped over on to the sands. There was nobody to be seen, only the row of small craft lying on the shingle, just as they had seen them an hour ago. The tide had risen higher, and had begun to lap softly against them, but was not yet sufficiently full to float them; moreover they were all secured with stout cables. Stop! There was something different. Surely there had only been six boats before, and now there was a seventh added to the number—a seventh in whose shadow lurked the dark figure of a man. Suddenly from the beach below rang out Ronnie's clear, rippling laugh, followed by an instant warning "Sh! sh!" and immediately he and Gerda stepped from the shadow of the cliff on to the shingle. They ran hand in hand towards the seventh boat, and the boatman, without waiting a moment, jumped them in, one after the other, pushed off, sprang into his seat, and began to row rapidly away across the creek.

"Look! Look!" gasped Deirdre in an agony of horror. "It's the man in the brown jersey!"

Of his identity they were certain. Even in the failing light they could not be mistaken. And he was kidnapping Ronnie under the very eyes of his friends—Ronnie, the "King of the Castle", the idol of the school, and the one treasure of Mrs. Trevellyan's old age! Where were they taking him? Was he to be held for ransom? Or kept in prison somewhere as a hostage? Gerda, with her smooth, insinuating ways, had betrayed him, and led him away to his fate.

"We must save him!" gasped Deirdre. "Save him before it is too late! Quick, quick! Let us run down to the shore. We mustn't let them get out of our sight."

The two girls tore frantically down the path which led to the sea in such haste that they had not time to realize their own risk of slipping. That Ronnie was being kidnapped was the one idea of paramount importance. As they reached the belt of shingle the dinghy had already crossed the creek, and was heading round the corner of the cliffs to the west.

"What can we do?" moaned Dulcie, wringing her hands in an agony of despair. "Shall we go and call Miss Birks, and get somebody to follow them with a boat?"

"By the time we'd fetched anybody they'd be hopelessly out of sight, and gone—goodness knows where. No! If Ronnie's to be saved, we must act at once, and follow them ourselves. You can row, can't you?"

"Yes, I learnt last holidays at home on the river."

"So can I. Then come, let's choose the lightest boat we can find. We mustn't waste a minute. We're both strong, and ought to be able to manage."

After a hasty review they selected a small skiff as looking the most likely to respond to amateur seamanship, and loosing the cable, which had been secured round a rock, coiled it and placed it inside. The tide had risen so fast that it did not require any very great effort to push off the boat. "Are you ready?" said Deirdre. "Don't mind getting your feet wet; it can't be helped. Now, then! Heave, oh! She's off!"

With a simultaneous splash the two girls scrambled on board in the very nick of time, and, taking their places, gingerly unshipped the oars. They were neither of them skilled for their task, and both realized that it was rather a wild and risky proceeding. For Ronnie's sake, however, they would have ventured far more, so they mutually hid their feelings, and pretended it was quite an everyday, easy kind of performance. If they had not much experience, their zeal and their strong young arms made the light little skiff fly like a sea-swallow, and they had soon gained the headland round which the other boat had disappeared. Very cautiously they proceeded, for fear of currents, but they managed successfully to pilot their craft past a group of half-sunken rocks and take her round the corner into the next bay. In front through the gathering darkness they could just distinguish the object of their pursuit making a landing upon the opposite shore. They could hear the grating of the keel on the shingle and an excited exclamation from Ronnie. They strained their eyes to watch what was happening. The man in the jersey helped Gerda to land, then taking Ronnie on his back strode rapidly away with him, Gerda walking close by his side. In another moment they had disappeared behind a group of rocks.

If the girls rowed fast before, they now redoubled their efforts. Both were flushed and panting, but they struggled valiantly on, and succeeded in beaching their skiff within a few yards of the white dinghy. They did not wait to cable her, but, anxious not to lose a moment of valuable time, made off in quest of the fugitives. At the other side of the group of rocks it was lighter, for they faced the west, and caught the last departing glories of the sunset. On the sands, bathed in the golden dying gleam of the afterglow, a lady was kneeling and clasping little Ronnie tightly in her arms. Even from the distance where they stood the chums could see how very fair and pretty she was. Her hat had fallen on the beach, and her flaxen head was pressed closely against the child's short curls.

"Why, she's actually kissing him!" exclaimed Dulcie.

The scene was so utterly unanticipated, and so entirely different from what they had expected to find, that the two girls stood for a moment almost at a loss. At that instant Gerda spied them, and turning to her companions made some remark in a low tone. The lady immediately loosed Ronnie and rose to her feet. Seeing their presence was discovered, the chums judged it best to walk boldly forward. They had come to rescue Ronnie, and it seemed high time to interfere.

"Miss Herbert's looking for you! You must go back with us at once," said Dulcie, laying an appropriating hand on the child's shoulder and glaring defiance at his kidnappers.

Gerda had blushed crimson. She looked egregiously caught. She glanced at the faces of her fellow conspirators as if seeking advice. The man in the brown jersey nodded.

"Yes—we'll go back at once," she stammered. "I—I was only trying to give Ronnie some fun."

"Miss Herbert doesn't think it fun," said Dulcie grimly. "You'd no business to take him away!"

The chums each seized the little boy by a hand and began to hurry him along towards the boats.

"But where are the fairies? Gerda promised I should see the fairies!" he objected.

"The fairies can't dance now, dear," replied Gerda sadly. "You remember I said they could only come if nobody was watching."

In silence the whole party returned to the shingle bank. Deirdre and Dulcie were too indignant for words, and Gerda seemed overwhelmed with embarrassment. The fair-haired lady was crying quietly. Still, keeping a tight hold on Ronnie, the chums approached their skiff. Then for the first time the man in the brown jersey spoke.

"You'd better all come into my boat," he remarked briefly. "I'll fasten yours on to the stern and tow her along."

The chums started with surprise. Instead of the local dialect of a fisherman or, as they expected, the foreign accent of a German, he had the cultured, refined tone of an English gentleman. For a moment they hesitated. Did he mean to kidnap them as well as Ronnie? Perhaps he saw the doubt in their eyes.

"You needn't be afraid. I'll take you straight back," he urged. Glad to escape the risky task of rowing round the point and steering clear of dangerous currents, the girls consented, though rather under protest, and wondering at the novelty of the situation which had made them, the pursuers, return in charge of the stranger whom they still distrusted. They sat in the stern, with Ronnie between them, guarding him like two faithful bulldogs. The lady stood upon the shore watching them as the boat pushed off. There was a sad, wistful look in her eyes. She did not attempt to say good-bye.

The chums felt considerably relieved when at last they arrived at the cove again in safety. The man in the brown jersey helped them all to land without a word; then he unloosed the skiff, beached her on the shingle whence she had been taken, and rowed out alone into the bay. Ronnie was growing sleepy; it took all Deirdre's and Dulcie's efforts to help him up the steep cliffside. Gerda followed a short way behind. Miss Herbert, who had really been uneasy about her charge, hailed their arrival with relief.

"Here you are at last! Where have you been, Ronnie? To see fairies! Gerda mustn't tell you such nonsense. Wake up! We must be going home at once. It's after nine o'clock."

The bonfire had burnt low, and the girls were packing the cups into baskets, ready to be carried to the Dower House.

"We ought to tell Miss Birks about this," whispered Dulcie, and Deirdre agreed with her.

Late as it was when they got in, the two girls sought the Principal in her study and poured out the whole of the story—their alarm on Ronnie's behalf, their dread of the man in the brown jersey, and their suspicion that Gerda was a German spy plotting against the country. Miss Birks listened most attentively, putting in a question here and there.

"I don't think either England or Ronnie is in any immediate danger," she said. "You may make your minds easy on that respect. I shall have a word with Gerda presently. You have done right to tell me; but now you may leave the whole matter safely in my hands, and need not worry yourselves any more over it. On no account talk about it to anybody in the school, and unless Gerda refers to it herself, do not mention the subject to her."

"Trust Gerda not to speak of it," said Dulcie as they went upstairs. "The Sphinx isn't likely to offer to unravel the mystery."

"It's a jig-saw puzzle I can't fit together," replied Deirdre. "It's all in odd pieces. Why was that lady crying? And what have she and the man in the brown jersey got to do with Ronnie?"