Aveline promptly lay down again and closed her eyes.

"Won't it keep till to-morrow?" she murmured.

"Certainly not! You've got to hear it now. Move further on--I'm coming into bed with you. That's better!"

"But I'm so sleepy,"--rather crossly.

"Don't be horrid! You might wake up for once, and listen!"

"I am listening."

"Well, I'll tell you, then. I said to myself when I began to think: 'What's wanted is a home for old Wilkinson!' and just now it suddenly flashed into my head: 'We'll make him one for ourselves!'"

"Where?"

"That's the point. The b.u.mble says she can't have him at the Grange--Hermie suggested that--and every place one knows of seems to belong to somebody who wants it--all except the island!"

"What island? The one on the river?"

"No, no! Not so far as that. The island on our moat, I mean. We'll build a little house for him, and he can have it all for his very own."

"Wouldn't it--wouldn't it be rather difficult to build?" gasped Aveline, dazed at the magnitude of her chum's idea.

"Oh, not impossible! There are heaps and heaps of railway sleepers down in the wood heap, and we could pile them up into a hut. It's only what people do out in Canada. Gibbie's always telling us tales of women who emigrate to the backwoods, and build colonies of log-cabins.

Ave, you're not going to sleep again, are you?"

"N--no!" came a rather languid voice; "but how'll we ever get to the island?"

"We'll make a raft. We'll do it to-morrow, you and I. Don't tell any of the others yet. Morvyth's been so nasty lately, I'm fed up with her, and Ardiune would only laugh. When we've got the thing really started, we'll take them over and let them help, but not till then.

Will you promise to keep it an absolute secret?"

"I'll promise anything you like"--wearily--"if you'll only go back to your own bed."

"All right, I'm off now--but just remember you're not to mention it to a single soul."

Raymonde, next day, was tremendously full of her new scheme. It savoured of romance. Old Wilkinson would be a combination of a mediaeval hermit and Robinson Crusoe, and in imagination she already saw him installed in a picturesque log-cabin, with his Manx cat and his tame jackdaw for company. Naturally the first step was to take possession of the island. It lay in the middle of the moat, a reedy little domain covered with willows and bushes. It had never yet been explored by the school, for the simple reason that there had been no means of gaining access to it. The water was too deep for wading, and Miss Beasley had utterly vetoed the suggestion of procuring a punt.

Raymonde had cast longing eyes at it many times before, but not until now had she made any real effort to reach it. She thought out her plans carefully during the day--considerably to the detriment of her lessons--and when afternoon recreation time came round she linked Aveline's arm firmly in hers, and led her to the lumber yard. Here, piled up behind the barn, was a large stack of wood stored for fuel--old railway sleepers, bits of broken fencing, packing-cases, tumbled-down trees, and brushwood.

"What we want to make first," she announced, "is a raft. I wonder it never struck me to make it before!"

Now rafts sound quite simple and easy when you read about them in books of adventure. Shipwrecked mariners on coral islands in the Pacific always lash a few logs together with incredible speed, and perform wonderful journeys through boiling surf to rescue kegs of provisions and other useful commodities which they observe floating about on the waves. The waters of the moat, being tranquil, and overgrown with duckweed, would surely prove more hospitable than the surging ocean, and ought to support a raft, of however amateur a description. Nevertheless, when they began to look round, it was more difficult than they had expected to find just the right material. The railway sleepers were too large and heavy, and the fence poles were of unequal lengths. Moreover, there was nothing with which to lash them together, for when Raymonde visited the orchard, intending to purloin a clothes-line, she found the housemaid there, hanging up a row of pantry towels, and was obliged to beat a hurried retreat. After much hunting about, the girls at last discovered in a corner exactly what they wanted. It was the door of a demolished shed, made of stout planking, strongly nailed and braced, and in fairly sound condition.

Nothing could have been better for their purpose. After first doing a little scouting, to make sure that the rest of the school were safely at the other side of the garden, they dragged it down to the edge of the moat, returning to fetch two small saplings to act as punt-poles.

"For goodness' sake, let's be quick and get off before anybody comes round and catches us!" panted Raymonde.

"Are you absolutely certain it's safe?" quavered Aveline dubiously.

Raymonde looked at her scornfully.

"Aveline Kerby, if you don't feel yourself up to this business, please back out of it at once, and I'll go and fetch Morvyth instead.

She may be a blighter in some things, but she doesn't funk!"

"No more do I," declared Aveline, suddenly a.s.suming an air of dignified abandon, reminiscent of the heroes of coral-island stories.

"I'm ready to brave anything, especially for the sake of old Wilkinson. Don't tip the thing so hard at your end! You've made me trap my fingers!"

They launched their craft from the water-garden, treading ruthlessly on Linda's irises and Hermie's cherished forget-me-nots. It seemed to float all right, so they crawled on, and squatted on the cross-beams on either side of it to preserve its balance. A good push with their poles sent them well out on to the moat. It was really a delightful sensation sailing amongst the duckweed and arrow-head leaves, although their shoes and skirts got wet from the water which oozed up between the planks. The raft behaved splendidly, and, propelled by the poles, made quite a steady pa.s.sage. They had soon crossed the piece of water, and scrambled out upon the island. It was a rather overgrown, brambly little domain, and to penetrate its fastnesses proved a scratchy performance, resulting in a long rent down the front of Raymonde's skirt, and several tears in Aveline's muslin blouse, to say nothing of wounds on wrists and ankles. There was quite a clearing in the middle, with soft, mossy gra.s.s and clumps of hemp agrimony, and actually a small apple-tree with nine apples upon it. They were green and very sour, but the girls each sampled one, with a kind of feeling that by so doing they were taking formal possession of the territory, though, with Paradise for an a.n.a.logy, it should have been just the reverse.

"We'll have the log-cabin exactly here," said Raymonde, munching abstractedly. "It'll face the sunset, and he can sit and watch the glowing west, and hear the evening bells, and--and----"

"Smoke his pipe," suggested Aveline unromantically. "He generally seems most grateful of all when one gives him tobacco."

"We shall be able to see him sitting there," continued Raymonde, in her most meditative mood. "There'll be a rose-tree planted beside the door, and nasturtiums and other thingumbobs for the bees. It'll make a beautiful end to his declining years."

"Yes," agreed Aveline, suppressing a yawn. She was not so enthusiastic over the scheme as her chum, and her apple had been much too sour to be really enjoyed. Raymonde sat twining pieces of gra.s.s round her finger; her eyes were dreamy, and she hummed "Those Evening Bells,"

which the singing cla.s.s had learnt only the week before.

At that identical moment the clang of a very different bell disturbed the echoes. The girls sprang to their feet.

"Prep.!" they gasped in consternation.

They had absolutely no idea it was so late. Time had simply flown.

They must get back immediately, and even then might expect to lose order marks. Regardless of scratches, they scurried through the brambles to the place where they had left their raft. To their horror it was gone! They had forgotten to anchor it, and it had floated out into the middle of the moat.

This was indeed a predicament! They looked at each other aghast.

"We're marooned, that's what it is!" stammered Aveline. "Raymonde, you're the silliest idiot I've ever met in the course of my life!"

"Well, I like that!"

"Can't help it--it's the truth! Whatever did you bring me out here for, on such a wild-goose chase?"

"Why, you wanted to come!"

"I didn't! You've landed me in a horrible sc.r.a.pe. I've been late for prep. twice already this week, and Gibbie gave me enough jaw-wag last time, so what she'll say this time, goodness knows! How are we ever going to get back?"

Raymonde shook her head and whistled. She might have attempted to defend herself, but Aveline by this time had begun to sob hysterically, and she knew that arguments were useless. The prospects of immediate rescue certainly appeared doubtful. Everyone would be indoors for preparation. No doubt they would be missed, and probably a monitress might be sent in quest of them, but the house would be searched first, and then the barns and garden; and it was quite problematical whether it would enter into anybody's head to walk to the edge of the moat, and look across towards the island.

"I suppose you can't swim?" asked Aveline, choking back her sobs, and dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

"No; only a little bit when somebody holds me up. Whoever would have thought of that wretched raft floating off in that fashion? It's too sickening!"

"Don't you think we'd better give a good shout?"

The girls put their united lung power into the loudest halloo of which they were capable, but it only scared a blackbird in the orchard, and provoked no human response. They sat down in a place where they could be best seen from the mainland, and waited. There were too many brambles for comfort, and the midges were biting badly. Raymonde began to wonder whether, after all, the island were as ideal a situation for a residence as she had supposed. Some lines from a parody on one of Rogers's poems flashed into her mind:

"So damp my cot beside the rill, The beehive fails to soothe my ear";

and