Swallowdale. Arthur Ransome

went to look for the old fireplace that she had built last year by the side of the stream, just where it joined the lake. Hardly a trace of it was left after the winter floods, but there were plenty of stones to build from, and while she was making a new fireplace, John, Titty and Roger were picking the best bits of driftwood they could find lying along the highwater mark in the cove. There were plenty of dry leaves for kindling, and dry reeds for the first little wigwam over the burning leaves. No one had been in the cove this year, so plenty of the larger driftwood for the real fire that was to boil the kettle was lying ready to be picked up. The kettle had already been filled, and the fire was burning up well, when the explorers were startled by a loud, cheerful shout from the lake.

      “Ahoy! Ahoy! Swallows! Ahoy!”

      A small varnished dinghy, about the size of Swallow, but with a white sail instead of her tanned one, was sailing in between the headlands. At the masthead was a black flag with the skull and crossbones on it in white. Two red-capped girls were the crew. One was steering. The other waved her hand as she started forward to be ready to haul up the centre-board.

      “It’s them,” shouted Titty. “Hurrah! Now we can really start.”

      “Hullo, pirates!” called Roger.

      “Hullo, Nancy! Hullo, Peggy!”

      “Hullo, my hearties!” called the girl who was steering. “Up with the centre-board, Peggy. That’s right . . . Stand by with the halyard. Lower away.”

      Down came the white sail and the little ship, on whose bows could now be plainly seen her name, Amazon, slipped on across the smooth water of the cove and grounded close beside the Swallow. The whole crew of the Swallow had left the fire and run down to be ready to lend a hand. They hauled her up a little and Nancy and Peggy Blackett jumped ashore and there was some tremendous shaking of hands.

      “Did you see our smoke?” asked Titty.

      “Uncle Jim saw it last night when he went up the fell for a smoke,” said Nancy. “Aunt Maria doesn’t like tobacco in the house.”

      “We couldn’t get away until late this morning,” said Peggy. “And then we saw Swallow’s brown sail going into the cove soon after we had got past Rio Bay.”

      “We waited a good long time,” said John, “and we thought it would be all right coming here because we could see if you went to the island.”

      “We could have given you the slip and got there without your knowing,” said Nancy. “You never knew we were on the lake till we hailed when we were coming into the cove.”

      “We were busy with the fire,” said Susan.

      “But where’s your tent?” asked John. “We left your old place for it. We’ve got four tents this year, and one of the old ones for all the stores.”

      “The new tents are beauties,” said Roger. “I’ve got one of my own.”

      “Shiver my timbers,” said Captain Nancy, “don’t you understand? We put it in the message we left with the wood. We told you there was native trouble. We’re jolly lucky to be here at all. We’ve got to be back and into best frocks for supper. We can’t camp. What about the feathers, Able-seaman? How’s the parrot?”

      “He’s not been moulting very well,” said Titty, “but I’ve got about eight really good ones. Polly’s looking after the island.”

      “You don’t mean real native trouble?” said Susan.

      “It’s as bad as it can possibly be,” said Nancy. “We’ve only got to make a plan and it’s scuppered at once. No camping. No gold hunting. No piracy except just now and then between meals. And best frocks every evening and sometimes half the day. Native trouble? It simply couldn’t be worse.”

      “Where’s Captain Flint?” asked Titty.

      “He can’t come until to-morrow,” said Peggy.

      “Didn’t we tell you he’s stuck too. He’s on duty to-day. That’s how we got away.”

      “He’s going to tea at Holly Howe,” said Susan. “Mother told us last night.”

      “We saw he wasn’t in the houseboat,” said Roger. “He’s covered up the cannon.”

      “He isn’t allowed to live there,” said Peggy. “He has to sleep at home.”

      “But aren’t you coming to Wild Cat Island?”

      “Not until she goes.”

      “Until who goes?”

      “The great-aunt, of course,” said Captain Nancy. “And she only came the day before you did.”

      “But you needn’t bring her,” said Titty.

      “If we could maroon her we would,” said Nancy. “We’d tie her to the anchor and send her to the bottom in forty fathoms. We’d feed her to the sharks. We’d leave her on a rock to be eaten by land-crabs. We’d hang her in a tree for crows – or vultures. Vultures would be better. We’d . . . There’s nothing we wouldn’t do. Can you think of anything really good?”

      “Nancy thinks of something new each night for us to dream about while we’re going to sleep. Last night it was land-crabs. The night before that it was white ants.”

      “You know,” said Nancy, “eating her up, like the fox ate up the Spartan boy. It’s nothing to what she deserves. Why couldn’t she come in term-time, when it wouldn’t have mattered so much?”

      “But it’ll be all right if you’re camping on the island with us,” said John.

      “But we can’t come,” said Nancy.

      “We’ve got to be on view,” said Peggy, “all the time.”

      “Our aunts aren’t like that,” said Roger.

      “Nor are most of ours,” said Nancy. “Some of ours aren’t native a bit. One of them might almost be a pirate. But the great-aunt’s altogether different. There’s no help for it. We’ve got to be mostly native till she goes. If she ever does. It isn’t as if it was only us. We’d bolt, but she’d have mother and Uncle Jim as hostages. They’re much more afraid of her than we are. You see, she brought them up.”

      “Won’t you be able to come at all?” said Roger.

      “We’ll always have to be back for some beastly meal,” said Nancy.

      “The kettle’ll be boiling in a minute,” said Susan, reminded of the dinner she was getting ready. It was a dreadful thing that all their plans were going wrong. But dinner had to be eaten just the same. “Have you got mugs?” she called over her shoulder as she hurried back to the fire.

      “Rather,” said Peggy. “And we’ve got our rations in the boat. There’s a cake and mugs in the knapsack. That other thing’s a meat pie. It was meant for native dinner last night, but the great-aunt said it was too salty, so cook said this morning we’d better have it and if the great-aunt wanted to see it again she’d have to do without. So we swiped it. It isn’t a bit too salt really. We dipped our fingers in the juice and tried what it was like while we were sailing down.”

      She climbed back into Amazon and passed out the knapsack and then came carefully ashore with the meat pie.

      “Sorry we’ve got no grog,” said Nancy. “Cook’s had no time to make any, being so busy with the great-aunt.”

      “We’ve got plenty of milk for tea,” said Susan.

      The four Swallows and the two Amazons were soon sitting round Susan’s fire, drinking tea and disagreeing altogether with the great-aunt’s poor opinion of the meat pie. When the meat pie was done, John used the tin-opener in his new knife to open the pemmican tin. Then he used the knife itself to cut the pemmican into six bits. They did not last long. But there was bunloaf and marmalade for pudding and then cake, and after