e us.

The bo's'n pipes the watch below,
Yeo ho! lads! ho!
Yeo ho! Yeo ho!
Then here's a health afore we go,
Yeo ho! lads! ho!
Yeo ho!
A long, long life to my sweet wife,
And mates at sea

--Keep it up down there! I have one hand on the ledge--

And keep our bones from Davy Jones
Where'er we be!"

"And--keep our bones--from--
Davy Jones--who e'er he be,"

quavered Lady Ingleby, making one final effort to move up into the vacant
niches, though conscious that her fingers and toes were so numb that she
could not feel them grip the sand.

Then Jim Airth's whole body vanished suddenly from above her, as he drew
himself on to the ledge.

"_Yeo ho! we go_!" Came his gay voice from above.

_"Yeo ho! Yeo ho!"_

sang Lady Ingleby, in a faint whisper.

She could not move on into the empty niches. She could only remain where
she was, clinging to the face of the cliff.

She suddenly thought of a fly on a wall; and remembered a particular fly,
years ago, on her nursery wall. She had followed its ascent with a small
interested finger, and her nurse had come by with a duster, and saying:
"Nasty thing!" had ruthlessly flicked it off. The fly had fallen--fallen
dead, on the nursery carpet.... Lady Ingleby felt she too was falling.
She gave one agonised glance upward to the towering cliff, with the line
of sky above it. Then everything swayed and rocked. "A mother of
soldiers," her brain insisted, "must fall without screaming." Then--A
long arm shot down from above; a strong hand gripped her firmly.

"One step more," said Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear, "and I can
lift you."

She made the effort, and he drew her on to the ledge beside him.

"Thank you very much," said Lady Ingleby. "And who was Davy Jones?"

Jim Airth's face was streaming with perspiration. His mouth was full of
sand. His heart was beating in his throat. But he loved to play the game,
and he loved to see another do it. So he laughed as he put his arm around
her, holding her tightly so that she should not realise how much she was
trembling.

"Davy Jones," he said, "is a gentleman who has a locker at the bottom of
the sea, into which all drown'd things go. I am afraid your pretty
parasol has gone there, and my b