The mysterious visitor was forgotten, my hand had healed, and Jack's ankle was in a fair way to recovery, when a letter arrived from Mr. Barton to say that, owing to his wife's death, he felt he could not return to Bath. He had taken a house at Brighton, but the necessary business of moving would make it impossible for him to receive his pupils at the time fixed. He hoped, therefore, that my father would not object to keeping the boys a fortnight longer.
 
With what a shout the letter was welcomed! I glanced anxiously at father; he did not look half as displeased as I thought he would. "Can you make yourselves happy till the beginning of September?" he asked.
 
"Just give us the chance, uncle. We will let you see what we can do. But what about Kathleen? We can't let her go before us?" Rupert looked at me with a mysterious sign.
 
"No, please father, don't send her away yet. I want her particularly."
 
"Mischief again?" said father, just catching my knowing look across at Kathleen. "I should have thought you had enough of getting into trouble by this time."
 
"It isn't mischief, father," I cried. "It's good, it's a beautiful secret, it's——" then I broke down and burst into tears.
 
It was only then, I think, that my parents realized that I had not done such a thing lately.
 
"Why, laddie," said father, soothing me gently, "I haven't seen any tears since the invasion of the Goths and Vandals. Here, young Alaric, carry him off, and bring back the smiles. Of course, Kathleen shall stay as long as you do, but I warn you"—and here father's face became very grave—"you have risked my son's life once, you had better not do it twice."
 
Harold was going to make some reply; but Rupert put his hand hastily over his mouth, and swung him out of the room before he and Kathleen came to lift me.
 
Whether it was that his foot was much better, or that Jack was delighted at the thought of spending a fortnight more than he expected at the Island Farm, I do not know; but he seemed that day to be possessed of twice his usual spirits. Of course, he was not allowed to put his foot to the ground; but it was cased in plaster of Paris, and he managed to hop with the help of a stick if he really wished to move.
 
"Now, commodore," said I, at last—for we had pretended he had been wounded in battle—"I wish you would keep still, you give me the fidgets; I know you'll damage that foot again; and you do look so queer hopping about like a wounded stork. I might as well try to get about—I believe I should do it as well."
 
"So you will, old fellow, only not just yet. Rub, rub, rub, scrub, scrub, scrub, Kathleen, and then he will go like a bird."
 
"Do keep still," said Rupert, presently. "I've tried three times to make a straight line on this piece of wood, and each time you've shaken the table. What do you want? Tell me, and I'll get it; but don't keep bobbing about like a lame duck."
 
"That oak chest is bothering me," said Jack, coming to an anchor at last, with his bad foot on the chest itself. "What's inside of it."
 
"How should I know? You heard Edric say it was here when he first came up. I expect it has old clothes in it. Curiosity killed a cat; and when you know that a cat has nine lives, you can see what a deadly poison curiosity must be. It's a glorious bench to carpenter on; and it makes a good place to lie on, if you are fearfully tired and don't mind pretending you are on a stone bench."
 
"And it would be a splendid place to——"
 
"To what?" we all asked, looking up at Jack.
 
"Never you mind; I know what I know, and I'm not going to tell anybody."
 
But, unfortunately, he did tell somebody............