l boo
into his ear and make him jump."

They got down from the rock, and came back down through the wood. As
they came Emmeline picked flowers and began making them up into one of
her wreaths. Some scarlet hibiscus, some bluebells, a couple of pale
poppies with furry stalks and bitter perfume.

"What are you making that for?" asked Dick, who always viewed
Emmeline's wreath-making with a mixture of compassion and vague disgust.

"I'm going to put it on Mr Button's head," said Emmeline; "so's when
you say boo into his ear he'll jump up with it on."

Dick chuckled with pleasure at the idea of the practical joke, and
almost admitted in his own mind for a moment, that after all there
might be a use for such futilities as wreaths.

The dinghy was moored under the spreading shade of the aoa, the painter
tied to one of the branches that projected over the water. These dwarf
aoas branch in an extraordinary way close to the ground, throwing out
limbs like rails. The tree had made a good protection for the little
boat, protecting it from marauding hands and from the sun; besides the
protection of the tree Paddy had now and then scuttled the boat in
shallow water. It was a new boat to start with, and with precautions
like these might be expected to last many years.

"Get in," said Dick, pulling on the painter so that the bow of the
dinghy came close to the beach.

Emmeline got carefully in, and went aft. Then Dick got in, pushed off,
and took to the sculls. Next moment they were out on the sparkling
water.

Dick rowed cautiously, fearing to wake the sleeper. He fastened the
painter to the coral spike that seemed set there by nature for the
purpose. He scrambled on to the reef, and lying down on his stomach
drew the boat's gunwale close up so that Emmeline might land. He had no
boots on; the soles of his feet, from constant exposure, had become
insensitive as leather.

Emmeline also was without boots. The soles of her feet, as is always
the case with highly nervous people, were sensitive, and she walked
delicately, avoiding the worst places, holding her wreath in her right
hand.

It was full tide, and the thunder of the waves outside shook the reef.
It was like being in a church when the deep bass of the organ is turned
full on, shaking the ground and the air, the walls and the roof. Dashes
of spray came over with the wind, and the melancholy "Hi, hi!" of the
wheeling gulls came like the voices of ghostly sailor-men ha