vealed
itself as a hill of two peaks, united by a long saddle-back. The most
of this upland consisted of short turf, with here and there a patch of
stones. In all the prospect was no single tree, scarcely a furze-bush
even--the furze grew only on the southern slopes, low down; and Tilda
strained her eyes vainly for sight of the House.

But in the very dip of the saddle was a gully, much like the one by
which they had ascended, but steeper and dipping to the north. Before
they reached it, before she could detect it even, Arthur Miles pointed
to where it lay; and they had scarcely turned aside to follow it before
a chimney--a genuine red-brick chimney--rose into sight above the dying
bracken.

A minute later, and she was looking down on a broad slated roof, on a
building of one story, stuck here in a notch of the gully, and in the
lee of almost every wind that could blow. Its front faced her as she
descended. It had a deep, red-tiled verandah, and under the verandah a
line of windows, close-shuttered all but one. This one stood next to
the front door, on the right.

The boy, still leading, ran down the sloping path to the door, and
lifted the latch. Tilda halted just within the threshold, and looked
about her.

The kitchen, on which the door opened, was well furnished, with an open
hearth, and a fire laid ready there, and even a row of saucepans
twinkling above the mantel-shelf.

Arthur Miles waved a hand around, and pointed to another door at the end
of the kitchen.

"There's a heap of rooms in there. I didn't stay to search. But look
at this!"

He unhitched a card which hung above the mantel-shelf. On it was
written:--

"The provisions here are left for any mariners who may
find themselves shipwrecked on this Island. All such
are welcome to make use of what accommodation they find
here. Casual visitors will kindly respect the intention
with which this house is kept open, and will leave the
place strictly as they find it."

"(Signed) MILES CHANDON, Bart."

From the next room came the sound of a window opened and a shutter
thrown wide, and Tilda's voice announced--

"Well, I never! Beds!"

"Beds?"

"Beds--_and_ sheets--_and_ blankets." Tilda reappeared in the doorway.
"A 'ole reel 'ouse! But why?--and 'ow in the world?"

Arthur Miles held out the card.

"It's for sailors shipwrecked here."

Tilda studied the notice.

"And we 're shipwrecked! Well, if thi