CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
WE LOSE OUR BOAT.
"We're going to take the boat again, Mrs Bonnet," said my father, as we passed Uggleston's cottage.
"Oh, I'm sure master would say you're welcome, sir," said the rosy-faced old lady.

"It's a beautiful afternoon for a row." Ten minutes after we were well afloat, and Bigley and I were pulling, making the water patter under the prow of the boat, as it rose and fell on the beautiful clear sea.

Below us were the rocks, which could be seen far enough down, all draped with the brown and golden-looking weed; and we felt as if it was a shame not to have a line over the side for pollack or mackerel on such a lovely afternoon.

But there was to be no fishing, for my father evidently had some serious object in hand, telling us how to pull so as to keep regularly along at a certain distance from the mighty wall of rock that was on our left till, about a mile from the Gap, where there were a great deal of piled-up stone in huge fragments that had fallen from the cliff, he suddenly told Bigley to easy, and me to row.

Then both together, with the result that we pulled right into a little bay where the cliff not only seemed to go up perpendicularly, but to overhang, while in one place at the bottom a dark patch or two showed where caves ran right in.
As we neared the shore he bade us cease rowing, and taking one of the oars he threw it over the stern, and sculled the boat in and out among the rocks that were half covered by the sea, threading his way carefully, and finally beaching her on a soft patch of sand.
We all leaped out, and the little anchor was thrown ashore to keep the boat safe while we went away.
"For neither of you will care to be boat-keeper," said my father smiling.
"What are you going to do ?" I asked as we walked up together.
"Don't ask questions, my boy," he replied quietly.