basket; and, having eaten, laid his head in her lap and fell
asleep.

Slowly under the noonday heat and through the long afternoon the two rafts
moved across the bay, towing each its boat in which the rafters would
return in the cool of the evening.

But the children did not return in them; for on the quay, where the balks
were due, to be warped ashore unlashed and conveyed inland to the mines,
stood Jim Tregay waiting with their grandfather's blood-mare Actress
harnessed in a spring-cart. How came Jim here, at this distance from
home?

"Been waiting for you these two hours!" he called to the children.
"Jump into the boat there and come ashore. You'm wanted to home, and at
once!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE HEIRS OF HALL.

They landed and clambered into the spring-cart.

"Nothing wrong at home, I hope?" called Tom Trevarthen from the quay's
edge, as he pushed off to scull back to the raft.

"Oh, this is Susannah's nonsense, you may be sure!" called back Myra.
"I suppose she carried her tales to grandfather, and he packed you off
after us, Jim Tregay? Well, you needn't look so glum about it.
Aunt Hannah gave us leave, and told Tom to look after us, and we've had a
heavenly day, so Susannah may scold till she's tired."

"Hold the reins for a moment, Miss Myra, if you please."
Jim left the mare's head and walked down the quay, holding up his hand to
delay the young sailor, who slewed his boat round, and brought her
alongside again. The pair were whispering together. Myra heard a sharp
exclamation, and in a moment Tom Trevarthen was sculling away for dear
life. Jim ran back, jumped into the cart, and took the reins.

"But what is he shouting?" asked Myra, as the mare's hoofs struck and slid
on the cobbles and the cart seemed to spring forward beneath her.
She clutched her brother as they swayed past mooring-posts, barrels, coils
of rope, and with a wild lurch around the tollman's house at the
quay-head, breasted the steep village street. "What's he shouting?" she
demanded again.

Jim made no answer, but, letting the reins lie loose, flicked Actress
smartly with the whip. Even a child could tell that no horse ought to be
put at a hill in this fashion. Faces appeared at cottage doors--faces
Myra had never seen in her life--gazing with a look she could not
understand. All the faces, too, seemed to wear this look.

"What has happened?"

At the top of the hill, on a smoother road, the mare settled down