The figure, smothered beneath the clotted

mass of children, heaved a sigh. But no one broke the pause. It was

too precious and wonderful to break at once. All waited breathlessly,

like birds poised in mid-air before they strike … until a new sound

stole faintly upon the listening silence, a faint and very distant

sound, barely audible as yet, but of unmistakable character. It was

far away in the upper reaches of the building, overhead, remote, a

little stealthy. Like the ominous murmur of a muffled drum, it had

approach in it. It was coming nearer and nearer. It was significant

and threatening.

For the first time that evening the ticking of the clock was also

audible. But the new sound, though somewhat in league with the

ticking, and equally remorseless, did not come from the clock. It was

a human sound, the most awful known to childhood. It was footsteps on

the stairs!

Both the children and the story-teller heard it, but with different

results. The latter stirred and looked about him, as though new hope

and strength had come to him. The former, led by Tim and Judy, broke

simultaneously into anxious speech. Maria, having slept profoundly

since the first mention of the mouse in its cosy pocket, gave no sign

at all.

“Oh, quick! quick! What did the squirrel whisper in his good right

ear? What was it? DO hurry, please!”

“It whispered two simple words, each of one syllable,” continued

the reanimated figure, his voice lowered and impressive. “It said— the sea!”

The announcement made by the squirrel was so entirely unexpected

that the surprise of it buried all memory of the disagreeable sound.

The children sat up and stared into the figure’s face questioningly.

Surely he had made a slight mistake. How could the sea have anything

to do with it? But no word was spoken, no actual question asked. This

overwhelming introduction of the sea left him poised far beyond their

reach. His stories were invariably marvellous. He would somehow

justify himself.

“The Sea!” whispered Tim to Judy, and there was intense admiration

in his voice and eyes.

“From the top of its tree,” resumed the figure triumphantly, “the

squirrel had seen what was happening, and made its great discovery. It

realised why the ground was wetter and wetter every day, and also why

the island was small and growing smaller. For it understood the awful

fact that—the sea was rising! A little longer and the entire island

would be under water, and everybody on it would be drowned!” “Couldn’t

none of them swim or anything?” asked Judy with keen anxiety.

“Hush!” put in Tim. “It’s what did they do? And who thought

of it first?”

The question last but one was chosen for solution.

“The rabbit,” announced the figure recklessly.