his looks. A Cover called Tummels drove
with him, bandaged also; and stopping the chaise a mile outside Marazion,
lifted Dan'l out, managed to hire a cart from a farm handy-by the road,
and so brought him, more dead than alive, home to Porthleah.

But though more dead than alive, Dan'l had not lost his wits. Except for
the faithful Tummels and Bessie Bussow at the Kiddlywink, the Cove was all
deserted--the _Nonesuch_ and her crew being yet on the high seas.
The very next day he sent Tummels over to Porthleven to tell Amelia
Sanders of his mishap, and that he was going into hiding for a time,
but would send her word of his movements; and on Tummels' return the pair
sat down and cast about where the hiding had best be, Dan'l being greatly
uplifted by Tummels' report that the girl had showed herself as plucky as
ginger, in spite of the loss of the lugger, declaring that, come what
might, she would rather have Dan'l with all his Christian virtues than a
fellow like Phoby Geen with all his riches and splay feet. Moreover--and
such is the wondrous insight of woman--she maintained that Phoby Geen must
be at the bottom of the whole mischief.

Dan'l didn't pay much heed to this, but set it down to woman's prejudice.
After talking the matter well out, he and Tummels decided on a very pretty
hiding-place and a fairly comfortable one. This was a tenantless house on
the coast near St. Ives. A Bristol merchant had built it, meaning to
retire there as soon as he'd made his fortune: but either the cost had
outrun his plans or the fortune didn't come quite so soon as he expected.
At any rate, neither he nor his family had ever taken up abode there.
A fine house it was, too, and went in the neighbourhood by the name of
Stack's Folly. It stood in the middle of a small farm of about a hundred
and fifty acres, besides moor and waste; and, as luck would have it, a
brother-in-law of Tummels, by name William Sleep, rented the farm and kept
the keys of the house, being supposed to look after it in the family's
absence.

Across to Stack's Folly, then, Dan'l was driven in a cart, under a great
pile of ore-weed; and William Sleep not only gave over the keys and helped
to rig up a bed of straw for him--for the house hadn't a stick of
furniture--but undertook to keep watch against surprise and get a supply
of food carried up to him daily from the farmhouse, which stood in the
valley below, three-quarters of a mile away. So far so good: yet