s, and the four set off, fortified with a good
supply of sandwiches and other nice things in a satchel, which Oscar
swung over his shoulder, traveller fashion; and so they started. The two
little dwellers at the Owl's Nest looked out at them longingly at the
park gates, as they passed that way; not far from the Black Hole, with
its thrilling memories, did their road lead them. Then away on through
young corn, and other crops that dared put forth their greenness in the
cold health-giving March air; and anon they had reached the Tor.

Up, up, still mounting up, they went, putting their best foot before, as
their two guides admonished the girls, giving them many a tug and many a
pull; and when they were half-way up, down they sat in the sunshine, and
ate a lunch picnic, taking sundry sips of cold water from a bottle Oscar
insisted on bringing, because he said climbing was such thirsty work in
the clear cold air of the old Tor. Well, after this they went mounting
up again, sometimes, like spiders, on all fours.

"It does take the breath out of one," said Dick, tugging at Trapper,
who, girl-like, kept slipping back, Oscar doing the same with Inna.

Inna, the Londoner, was a very poor climber; but once on the summit,
what exultant delight was there!--the blue heavens above their heads;
the sunny landscape, in its dainty spring dress, at their feet; the
Owl's Nest in the distance not nearly so imposing to look upon seen from
that elevation; the sea--they could even discern somewhat of its
shimmering upheaving, in this clearest of clear March mornings.

Dick, who was gifted with far-reaching sight, affirmed he could see the
sails of the fishing-smacks, but none of the others could; still they
all clapped their hands, and sang in a wild chorus:

"The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever-free!"

"I mean to be a sailor," said Oscar, when the singing ended. Silence
reigned on the old Tor, save for the blustering wind, which played havoc
with the girls' hair, and clutched at all their hats.

"Oh, Oscar! and uncle intends you to be a farmer!" cried Inna, her
tongue running away with her better judgment, which would have whispered
her to think twice before she spoke once. But her heart was stirred with
pity for Oscar, and for her uncle, knowing what Mrs. Grant had said
about the boy's future.

"And so Mother Peggy has been whispering that into your ear," was the
scoffing reply.

"Mrs. Grant told m