Long Island was one of the largest of the little islands round which the river flowed. The river at this part was more considerable, and even now, at the end of the dry season, it required no little agility to ford it. The island was so thickly overgrown with trees and bushes that from the banks it seemed to be only an impenetrable mass of foliage. But the children knew better. In the centre was a little cleared spot, and on that clearance their father had, many years ago, built a hut.

The difficulty of approach, and the delightful loneliness of the place, formed a great attraction for the children; but the charm of charms was this hut. Completely hidden as it was, approachable only by two narrow openings in the bushes, never entered except by themselves, there was a delicious mystery about it that heightened the pleasures of possession; and then, it was their very own, built by their father when he was a child like them, and begged for them by him from their uncle, who was scarcely aware of its existence. It was their castle, to do with absolutely as they pleased.

There was no place in the world where the children more enjoyed playing. Its walls were built of stones cemented with mud; a square opening on one side served as a window, but in the doorway there was still the remains of a door, which Murtagh and Bobbo had mended so that it could shut, fastened on the inside.

Opposite the window was a chimney, and in one of the walls a cupboard where Rosie and Winnie kept a wooden bowl, four or five broken plates, two cups, and an old knife. Besides these they had an empty box that they used as a table, and five flower-pots that served as chairs; also a piece of soap, an old scrubbing-brush, a lot of raw potatoes, and a broom which they had made for themselves.

The only drawback was that this island was too far off. There was a shorter way by the road, but the children always came along the river-bed, and though the distance was really far less than they imagined, the high, wooded banks, the desolate fields through which the river wound, made the course of it so lonely that they always felt as if they were on an expedition into the depths of a wild country.

This very seclusion, however, made it all the more suitable to their present purpose, and to-day their sense of proprietorship was perhaps more delightful than it had ever been before.

For the moment, however, the important matter was to get dinner ready, and they set to work to collect wood for the fire.

Then the hut had to be cleaned, for it was more than a month since they had last been here, and cobwebs and dust abounded; so while Rosie prepared to light the fire, the boys went with the bowl and saucepan to bring up water from the river, Winnie swept out the hut, and to Theresa was intrusted the business of getting the fish ready for cooking. Ellie was sent to pick laurel leaves to strew the floor. "For," remarked Murtagh, "to-day's a grand festival day, and our floor must be strewed with rushes like the ancient Britons. I'll be lord of the castle and, Winnie, you shall be lady."

"I don't know what to do with this fire, Murtagh!" exclaimed Rose. "The three matches we had left are every one of them damp; I can't strike them."

"What a sell if we can't have a fire at all!" ejaculated Bobbo. "What's to be done?"

"Go down to the mill, of course, and get some matches from one of the men," dictated Winnie, in her bright, decided way.

"Well done, my Lady Winifreda! right as usual," exclaimed Murtagh. "Be off, you varlet!" he continued in a grandiloquent tone of voice, turning to Bobbo, "and—" he paused a moment to find proper words, but fine language running short, the end of his sentence collapsed miserably into, "look sharp back again."

"Bring a dictionary next time," laughed Bobbo, as he started off to fetch the matches.

Scrubbing, sweeping, and dusting went on vigorously, till Bobbo came back from the mill bringing with him not only a whole box of matches but also a can of buttermilk, which the good-natured miller's wife had given him.

How the children enjoyed that cleaning! How they rubbed, and scrubbed, and splashed the water about! They forgot all about being hungry. Any one might have supposed that they were the most orderly little mortals in existence.

Even Ellie had her share. With the skirt of her frock pinned back, and her little sleeves rolled up, she knelt upon the floor arranging laurel leaves, with the shiny sides uppermost, as though her very life depended on the completeness of the operation.

At last all began to look a little more clean and tidy, as Rose and Winnie observed with pride. The fire was lighted, the potatoes were boiling, the fish ready to cook, and now arose the great question, "How were the fish to be cooked?" The children had often seen Donnie cooking fish, but then it was always in a frying-pan, and they had none. Murtagh was equal to the occasion. He thought he had heard somewhere that down at Killarney trout used to be grilled over a wood fire on a kind of gridiron of arbutus twigs; and there was a splendid arbutus tree on the island.

"All right," said Winnie; "I daresay it's as good a plan as another; anyhow, let's try."

The boys went out to cut the twigs, and she prepared a little wall of stones on either side of the fire, so that the sticks might be laid across, and support the fish nicely over the red mass of glowing wood, without letting them get burned. Everything was ready except the trout. The children began to realize how hungry they were; and the boys coming quickly back with their bundles of rods, every one gathered round the fire, absorbed in the interest of watching the experiment.

Winnie's plan for making the gridiron answered perfectly, and in a minute six trout lay sputtering side by side upon it.

"Doesn't it make one hungry to look at them?" cried Bobbo, in delight.

Rosie appealed anxiously to Winnie to know how long she thought they ought to take cooking.

"I don't know exactly," said Winnie. "We must just guess!" And so well did they guess that when the six trout were all served up together in the flat wooden bowl, decorated with sprays of arbutus leaves and berries, the children decided that they had never sat down to such a jolly dinner.

They were as hungry as hungry could be. The fish and brown cake were delicious; the hut was most cosy with its carpet of green leaves and its blazing fire, and even Theresa could not help being gay and light-hearted.

By the time dinner was over, however, the short October afternoon was reminding them that, even taking the shortest way home by the road, they had some little distance to go, and nothing had yet been quite settled about Theresa.

"Now, listen, and I'll tell you what my plan is," said Murtagh. "This hut is a very nice place to live, and I vote Theresa stays here. There are three fish left, and a bit of cake. That'll do for her supper and breakfast. We can collect a lot of wood; then she can fasten the door inside and keep herself warm with a jolly big fire all night; not a soul will ever know she's here, and to-morrow—"

"Well, but, Murtagh," interrupted Rosie, "we can't—!"

"Stop a minute," said Murtagh, "I thought all about it on the way up here. To-morrow we must make up our minds to ask old Plunkett something. It's not very nice, but then, you know, it's not the same as if it was for ourselves. We'll just tell him all about it; how the rent was lost, and then, though he is such a—what he is—he'll let them off paying after an accident like that. Then, Theresa, we'll all go home with you, and your mother'll be so awfully glad to see you, after thinking you're lost, that she won't think a word about anything except kissing, and of course when the rent's all right your stepfather won't touch you."

"What a splendid plan!" cried Winnie and Bobbo together, as Murtagh looked round for admiration.

The notion was by no means so agreeable to Theresa; but at the thought of going home the terror of her stepfather came over her again. She dared not face him without the rent; the remembrance of her last beating was too fresh in her mind.

"I think I'd better drown myself and have done with it!" she exclaimed, relapsing into her former state of despair.

"What in the world should you drown yourself for?" asked Winnie. "You have nothing to do except to stay here; then we'll come up with the rent, and we'll all go home to your house together; the night goes quite quickly when you're asleep."

Winnie's words made the affair seem certainly much simpler. Theresa felt ashamed of her ingratitude.

"I'm sure I ask yer pardon. It's much too good ye are to me," she replied warmly. Then with a sudden doubt, "Ye're sure ye'll bring it up in the morning?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Bobbo and Winnie together. "We'll come up the very first thing after we've got it," said Murtagh. "You know he won't actually give us two sovereigns, but he'll say you needn't pay your rent; that's just the same thing."

"But," suggested Rosie, who understood better what Theresa meant, "supposing he won't let them off paying."

"Oh, of course he'll let them off!" returned the others, confidently.

"Why," said Winnie, "just think, what's two sovereigns in all the hundreds of pounds he has paid to him!"

"Why," added Murtagh, "he has more hundreds of pounds every year than we have halfpennies, all five of us put together."

"So it would be just the same," continued Winnie, "as if some one asked us to give two halfpennies between us, and we would have to be pretty mean if we wouldn't do that."

"Yes," said Rosie, "then I think it'll be all right. He couldn't possibly refuse that."

"I should rather think not!" answered Bobbo.

"There's only one thing more," said Murtagh. "About your mother, Theresa; is that what you're thinking about? Are you afraid she'll be frightened at your not going home?"

"Oh, Murtagh, we can't help that!" said Winnie. "We must keep it all secret, or half the fun will be gone!"

Theresa replied dolefully that "She didn't know what her mother would do. She thought maybe it would kill her."

"I'm sure it won't," said Bobbo, "and just think how jolly it'll be to see her face when we take you back to-morrow."

"If once we let out the secret of the hut, we'll never have any peace here again," urged Winnie.

"Now do just listen to me," said Murtagh. "Nobody's going to let out the secret of the hut. Of course we can't tell your mother, because it would never do to let anybody know where you are; but we might write something on a piece of paper, just to let her know you're safe, and poke it under the door. We can do it on the way home, when it's too dark for any one to see us."

"Oh, Murtagh!" cried Bobbo, in delight. "How ever do things get into your head?"

Murtagh tried not to look too proud of himself, but he began to feel really elated at his own genius for arranging details.

"Who's got a pencil?" he continued, producing a bit of dirty paper from his pocket.

None of them possessed such a thing; but a stick blackened in the fire and then dipped in buttermilk answered fairly well for a pen. It was found dreadfully difficult to write with; so Rose, who was the best scribe of the party, was directed to write only these words: "Theresa is safe,"—that being the very shortest message they could think of. Then Murtagh put the letter in his pocket, and they all set to work to collect fire wood.

Left alone, Theresa dared not move even to bolt the door which the children had closed behind them, but turning the skirt of her dress over her head, she sank down in the corner of the hut with her face to the wall, and quivering with fear lay still and listened.

Nothing came, and before long the perfect stillness of her position produced its own effect; she fell into a short, troubled sleep. But her dreams were of terrible things, and she awoke suddenly a few hours later convinced that she had heard something, she was too agitated to attempt to define what. She gave one scream, and then sitting up she held her breath and listened. A gentle wind had arisen, the branches of the trees were swaying, and she imagined she heard a sound as of ghostly footsteps.

Trembling greatly she crept across the hut. The moon was up now, and the first object that met her eyes was a great white shimmering thing that seemed to be coming towards her, waving its arms as it approached. She stood still a moment transfixed with fright; two long white arms were raised as if to seize her, and she could bear it no longer. Shrieking at the top of her voice she fled blindly, out of the hut down to the river's edge. The sight of the shining water recalled her just sufficiently to her senses to prevent her from attempting to cross the river; but still screaming she turned and rushed—right into the arms of the ghost itself, where she fell exhausted and terrified among the straggling branches of a tall laurel.

For a moment she lay shuddering with closed eyes; but presently, venturing to look around her, she found that the ghost had vanished; that the moon was shining peaceably on the white backs of the laurel leaves as they fluttered on the swaying branches; and after the first moment of astonishment, she began to understand that all her fright had been caused by nothing more nor less than a big bush.

Poor little Theresa! She had sense enough left to feel ashamed of herself, so she went quietly into the hut. This time she barricaded the window and bolted the door, then blowing the fire into a blaze she ate some supper, and lying down once more fell soon into a peaceable slumber.

The children, meanwhile, had trotted in the deepening gloom along the road till they came to the Dalys' cottage, standing back in a little garden. But alas for Murtagh's plan. The door was wide open, and opposite to it, near the fire, a man stood smoking.

"What's to be done now?" whispered Rose. "We'd better go away."

"Hold your tongue," returned Murtagh. "He can't see us because we're in the dark, but he'll hear us if you don't mind."

Rose was silenced, and Murtagh stood a minute thinking.

"We'll hide in the ditch," whispered Winnie. "You wrap it round a stone, then shy it in and hide; don't run away."

Murtagh nodded; and while he looked for a stone the four others concealed themselves in the ditch. Standing a little on one side of the door he flung in his note. The children saw the little white thing fall at the man's feet. He started, looked round, and picked it up. As he opened it they heard him say something in a low, thick voice. There was a shrill cry of "Peter, what is it?" He seemed to answer; took a great stick from the chimney corner, came to the door, and looked out. They heard the woman's voice say, "Oh, Peter, catch the villains!" and their hearts began to beat a little faster.

To their intense relief, however, he exclaimed with a drunken laugh, "May old Nick fly away with 'em. I'm well rid of her." Then the door was shut to with a bang. They scampered away home, not feeling quite sure he wasn't after them till they were safe inside the house.

They rushed along the passages, slamming the doors behind them, till at the drawing-room door they were brought to a full stop by Adrienne, who hearing the noise came out to meet them.

"How late you are!" she said. "Come in here and warm yourselves while they are getting your tea ready."

The drawing-room behind was bright with lamp and firelight. In her white dress, her face a little flushed with bending over the fire, she seemed to the children almost like a being from some other world. Murtagh looked doubtfully at his muddy boots before he followed her. The room smelt of flowers, a low chair was drawn up to the fire, and on a small table beside it was a bit of needlework and a china bowl full of ivy and late roses. The "mustiness" of the old room had somehow disappeared, as if by enchantment.

Adrienne knelt down upon the hearth-rug, and taking Ellie's hands in hers rubbed them to bring back the heat.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "You must be very hungry."

"Don't!" burst out Murtagh, who was apparently fascinated by the contrast between Ellie's dirty little fingers and the hands in which they lay. "They are so fishy; you'd better let them alone. Ellie can warm them herself at the fire."

"Ellie is so tired," said Ellie, plaintively, leaning her little body against Adrienne. Adrienne sat down on the floor and took the child into her lap.

"Poor little thing!" she said, looking up at the others. "Have you been fishing? I think you have been rather too far for her."

"I should rather think we have," replied Bobbo, enthusiastically. "And we found something else besides fish; didn't we, Myrrh?"

An admonitory kick from Winnie, accompanied by a sotto voce "Hold your tongue, little donkey," warned him to be quiet, and Rosie hastily covered his abrupt silence by remarking, "We caught nine trout, and four of them were the very biggest I have ever seen."

Adrienne was all attention and interest, and without mentioning Theresa the children had plenty to tell. Lolling in easy-chairs by the fire, they were so warm and comfortable that they paid no attention to Peggy's announcement that tea was ready, and presently Mr. Blair's step was heard coming along the hall. Then Adrienne looked up quickly, and said with a little hesitation:

"Hadn't you better go and take your tea now? I think that is Uncle Blair, and you are not quite dressed for the drawing-room."

The children started out of their chairs. Murtagh contented himself with one of his queer, significant glances, embracing the whole group that stood upon the hearth-rug. Rosie blushed, and explained that, "When we were with mamma, we always dressed for the evening."

Adrienne, without answering, led sleepy little Ellie to the door. The children vanished promptly through one door as their uncle entered by the other.

The schoolroom was cold, and as untidy as usual. The door was standing open, and the flame of the candle which lighted the tea-table flickered in the draught. As they surveyed it, and heard in the distance the drawing-room door shut behind them, the children had a vague shut-out sort of feeling.

"What a set of dirty vagabonds we do look," said Murtagh, shivering. "Shut the door, Bobbo; the candle's running down one side on to the table-cloth."