Part 33 (1/2)

He walked straight across the room--this was wonderful too, that he should know, among so many books, exactly where to search--adjusted his spectacles, stooped with palms on knees, peered for ten seconds or so along the backs of a row of tall volumes, drew forth one, and bearing it to the table, laid it open under the lamplight.

”Let me see--let me see,” he muttered, turning the pages rapidly.

”H--H.O.--here we are! Hockley--Hoe--no.” He turned another three or four pages. ”Holbeach--Hollington--Hollingwood--Holme--ah, here we have it!--Holmfirth, Holme Fell, Holme Moss, HOLMNESS.”

He paused for a moment, scanning the page while they held their breath.

Then he read aloud, yet not so as to disturb the other students--

”'_Holmness_. An Island or Islet in the Bristol Channel--'”

”Ah!” The boy let his breath escape almost in a sob.

”'Uninhabited--'”

The old chemist looked up over the rims of his spectacles; but whether questioning or because the sound had interrupted him, Tilda could not determine.

”Yes,” said the boy eagerly. ”They thought that about--about the other Island, sir. Didn't they?”

The old man, either not hearing or not understanding, looked down at the page again. He read out the lat.i.tude and longitude--words and figures which neither of the children understood.

”'Extreme length, three-quarters of a mile; width at narrowest point, 165 yards. It contains 356 acres, all of short gra.s.s, and affords pasturage in summer for a few sheep from the mainland. There is no harbour; but the south side affords fair anchorage for vessels sheltering from N.W. winds. The distance from nearest point of coast is three and three-quarter miles. Reputed to have served anciently as _rendezvous_ for British pirates, and even in the last century as a smugglers' _entrepot_. Geological formation--'”

”Is that all?” asked Tilda as the old man ceased his reading.

”That is all.”

”But the river will take us to it,” said the boy confidently.

”Hey? What river?”

”Why _this_ river--the Avon. It leads down to it--of course it must!”

”Why, yes,” answered the old chemist after considering a while. ”In a sense, of course, it does. I hadn't guessed at your age you'd be so good at geography. The Avon runs down to Tewkesbury, and there it joins the Severn; and the Severn leads down past Gloucester and into the Bristol Channel.”

”I was sure!”

The boy said it in no very loud tone: but something shook in his voice, and at the sound of it all the readers looked up with curiosity--which changed, however, to protest at sight of the boy's rags.

”S--sh--s.h.!.+” said two or three.

The old chemist gazed around apologetically, closed the volume, replaced it, and shepherded the children forth.

CHAPTER XVII.

BY WESTON WEIR.

”_Down below the Weir Brake Journeys end in lovers' meeting: You and I our way must take, You and I our way will wend Farther on, my only friend-- Farther on, my more than friend-- My sweet sweeting._”--COUNTRY SONG.

In a private apartment of the Red Cow Public-house Sam Bossom sat doggedly pulling at a short pipe while Mr. Mortimer harangued him.