“Speak for yourself,” said Philip, but not unkindly. “I’m not so jolly often afraid as you seem to think. Go ahead, my Lord.”
“You might as well call me Billy,” said the Lord High Islander; “it’s my name.”
“Well, Billy, then. What is it you’re afraid of?”
“I hate being afraid,” said Billy angrily. “Of course I know no true boy is afraid of anything except doing wrong. One of the M.A.’s told me that. But the M.A.’s are afraid too.”
“What of?” Lucy asked, glancing at the terrace below, where already the shadows were lengthening; “it’ll be getting dark soon. I’d much rather know what you’re afraid of while it’s daylight.”
“What we’re afraid of,” said Billy abruptly, “is the sea. Suppose a great wave came and washed away the castle, and the huts, and the M.A.’s and all of us?”
“But it never has, has it?” Lucy asked.
“No, but everything must have a beginning. I know that’s true, because another of the M.A.’s told it me.”
“But why don’t you go and live somewhere inland?”
“Because we couldn’t live away from the sea. We’re islanders, you know; we couldn’t bear not to be near the sea. And we’d rather be afraid of it, than not have it to be afraid of. But it upsets the government, because we ought to be happy troops of gentle islanders, and you can’t be quite happy if you’re afraid. That’s why it’s one of your deeds to take away our fear.”
“It sounds jolly difficult,” said Philip; “I shall have to think,” he added desperately. So he lay and thought with Max and Brenda asleep by his side and the parrot preening its bright feathers on the parapet of the tower, while Lucy and the Lord High Islander played cat’s cradle with a long thread of seaweed.
“It’s supper time,” said Billy at last. “Have you thought of anything?”
“Not a single thing,” said Philip.
“Well, don’t swat over it any more,” said Billy; “just stay with us and have a jolly time. You’re sure to think of something. Or else Lucy will. We’ll act charades tonight.”
They did. The rest of the islanders were an extremely jolly lot, and all the M.A.’s came out of their huts to be audience. It was a charming evening, and ended up with hide-and-seek all over the castle.
To wake next morning on a bed of soft, dry, sweet-smelling seaweed, and to know that the day was to be spent in having a good time with the jolliest set of children she had ever met, was delightful to Lucy. Philip’s delight was dashed by the knowledge that he must, sooner or later, think. But the day passed most agreeably. They all bathed in the rock pools, picked up shellfish for dinner, played rounders in the afternoon, and in the evening danced to the music made by the M.A.’s who most of them carried flutes in their pockets, and who were all very flattered at being asked to play.
So the pleasant days went on. Every morning Philip said to himself, “Now today I really must think of something,” and every night he said, “I really ought to have thought of something.” But he never could think of anything to take away the fear of the gentle islanders.
It was on the sixth night that the storm came. The wind blew and the sea roared and the castle shook to its very foundations. And Philip, awakened by the noise and the shaking, sat up in bed and understood what the fear was that spoiled the happiness of the Dwellers by the Sea.
“Suppose the sea did sweep us all away,” he said; “and they haven’t even got a boat.”
And then, when he was quite far from expecting it, he did think of something. And he went on thinking about it so hard that he couldn’t sleep any more.
And in the morning he said to the parrot:
“I’ve thought of something. And I’m not going to tell the others. But I can’t do it all by myself. Do you think you could get Perrin for me?”
“I will try with pleasure,” replied the obliging bird, and flew off without further speech.
That afternoon, just as a picnic tea was ending, a great shadow fell on the party, and next moment the Hippogriff alighted with Mr. Perrin and the parrot on its back.
“Oh, thank you,” said Philip, and led Mr. Perrin away and began to talk to him in whispers.
“No, sir,” Mr. Perrin answered suddenly and aloud. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t think of it.”
“Don’t you know how?” Philip asked.
“I know everything as is to be known in my trade,” said Mr. Perrin, “but carpentry’s one thing, and manners is another. Not but what I know manners too, which is why I won’t be a party to no such a thing.”
“But you don’t understand,” said Philip, trying to keep up with Mr. Perrin’s long strides. “What I want to do is for you to build a Noah’s ark on the top of the highest tower. Then when the sea’s rough and the wind blows, all the Sea-Dwellers can just get into their ark and then they’ll be quite safe whatever happens.”
“You said all that afore,” said Mr. Perrin, “and I wonder at you, so I do.”
“I thought it was such a good idea,” said poor Philip in gloom.
“Oh, the idea’s all right,” said Mr. Perrin; “there ain’t nothing to complain of ’bout the idea.”
“Then what is wrong?” Philip asked impatiently.
“You’ve come to the wrong shop,” said Mr. Perrin slowly. “I ain’t the man to take away another chap’s job, not if he was to be in the humblest way of business; but when it comes to slapping the government in the face, well, there, Master Pip, I wouldn’t have thought it of you. It’s as much as my place is worth.”
“Look here,” said Philip, stopping short in despair, “will
