Pam, and she, sitting at her window in the evening looking straight across the sea-wall, the rocks, and the tide rippling out over the golden sand, decided that the Little Pilgrim was in love with Major Fraser.  "Why don’t people settle things comfortably and be done with it," thought Pamela vexedly.  "They are both nice, and they could live at Fuchsia Cottage."
On Tuesday morning, so early as the nine-o’clock breakfast hour, came a surprise.
It had been raining in the night, and was still drizzling, with an inclination to clear up, when Mollie Shard burst upon the scene in an atmosphere of wet wind and scent of salt.
She had not had breakfast.  It appeared that Auntie A. was not down, and as Miss Shard had something to communicate that refused to be kept back till conventional hours she had left Crown Hill, in a "trench" coat and no hat, racing down to the Bell House to see her friends, and tell her tale.
Everybody was down and beginning, except Pamela, and the conversation was a perfect rattle of questions and answers."Suppose," said Mrs. Romilly, "you let Mollie tell us what she has been doing."

Mollie explained that what she had been doing was entirely uninteresting. It was only what she expected--a little house on the river near Weybridge. "Yes, the usual little cottagey thing--with a lawn." Mollie liked it, and anyway it had to be because Dad couldn’t leave London for ages. "It’ll have to be put up with," said Mollie, "one must look forward to better times," but it seemed that was not the matter that was causing all this bubble of excitement and beam of smiles.

"Addie, I’ve got a message for you and Crow from Dad. Very special. You can have the _Messenger_ to play with, till he wants her."

"_We_ can!" gasped Christobel.

Adrian murmured "My hat!" and flushed red all over his tanned face.

"Yes. That’s why I came bursting down, because why shouldn’t we go out to-day? Do let’s. I’ve got to do reams of packing, and I’m vowed to go back with the goods, next Monday. Mother lets me off till Monday. Well, anyway Dad says he sees that Crow and Adrian can manage the yawl just as well as he can, and he trusts her to you--only he says if you wreck her you’ll have to give him another--that’s all. Of course he knows Penberthy isn’t vital. Especially when he has lumbago. She’s not a heavy boat, and yawls are awfully convenient, Mrs. Romilly--aren’t they, Addie?"

"Rather," agreed Adrian ecstatically; his hands shook a little with the thrill of the moment. Crow’s grey eyes, so like 

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