land. "Those
ledges look literally made for smugglers. No doubt they kept kegs of
brandy there, and chests of tea, and bales of silk and lace in the good
old days."

"Why shouldn't we keep a few things here?" suggested Claudia. "A kettle,
and a tin of cocoa and milk, and some matches, and a box of biscuits.
Then we could light a fire and have a little feast any time when we
came."

"A ripping notion. I'll make a sort of cupboard with some of that wood
to keep the things in. We'll bring cups and saucers as well as a
kettle."

"And a frying pan in case we catch flukes down in the pools," put in
Lorraine eagerly.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Morland, quite roused to enthusiasm.
"I'll come over on Monday and bring a saw with me, and a hammer and
nails, and see what I can knock together in the shape of a cupboard and
seats. Then next Saturday we'll tramp over and have our picnic."

"Splendiferous!"

"We'll have to come in the morning, because of the tide."

"Right you are! I guess we'd better be getting back now. I haven't grown
my merman's tail enough yet to swim with, and I've no wish to stop here
all night."

Morland kept his word, and went on Monday to the cave, armed with
various useful tools. He could work well enough at anything that took
his fancy, and, though he never knocked in a nail at home, he toiled
here in a way that would have amazed his family if they could have seen
him. Landry went also, and helped in a fashion. He could not do much,
but he held pieces of wood steady while his brother hammered, and he
collected whole pocketfuls of shells from the beach.

Morland whistled cheerily as he worked. He wanted to give the girls a
surprise, and, as they were busy at school all the week, he had the
field to himself until Saturday. His artistic temperament found scope in
the decoration of the cavern; fresh ideas kept occurring to him, and he
enjoyed carrying them out. He felt like a kind of combination of
Robinson Crusoe and the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, with a spice of
poetry running through it all.

Next Saturday Lorraine, having obtained permission from her mother to go
to a picnic with the Castletons, started off, basket in hand, resisting
the agonized entreaties of Monica, who implored to be allowed to
accompany her.

"Sorry I can't take you to-day, Cuckoo! But you see they didn't ask
you--only me. Beata and Romola aren't going either."

"But why shouldn't we _all_ go, and Madox too?"