“Do you like my mother?” said George, her bright blue eyes softening a little. “Yes-she’s a dear, isn’t she? Well-all right-I’ll tell you how Kirrin Castle belongs to me. Come and sit down here in this corner where nobody can hear us.”
They all sat down in a sandy corner of the beach. George looked across at the little island in the bay.
“It’s like this,” she said. “Years ago my mother’s people owned nearly all the land around here. Then they got poor, and had to sell most of it. But they could never sell that little island, because nobody thought it worth anything, especially as the castle has been ruined for years.”
“Fancy nobody wanting to buy a dear little island like that!” said Dick. “I’d buy it at once if I had the money.”
“All that’s left of what Mother’s family owned is our own house, Kirrin Cottage, and a farm a little way off-and Kirrin Island,” said George. “Mother says when I’m grown-up it will be mine. She says she doesn’t want it now, either, so she’s sort of given it to me. It belongs to me. It’s my own private island, and I don’t let anyone go there unless they get my permission.”
The three children stared at her. They believed every word George said, for it was quite plain that the girl was speaking the truth. Fancy having an island of your very own! They thought she was very lucky indeed.
“Oh Georgina-I mean George!” said Dick. “I do think you’re lucky. It looks such a nice island. I hope you’ll be friends with us and take us there one day soon. You simply can’t imagine how we’d love it.”
“Well-I might,” said George, pleased at the interest she had caused. “I’ll see. I never have taken anyone there yet, though some of the boys and girls round here have begged me to. But I don’t like them, so I haven’t.”
There was a little silence as the four children looked out over the bay to where the island lay in the distance. The tide was going out. It almost looked as if they could wade over to the island. Dick asked if it was possible.
“No,” said George. “I told you-it’s only possible to get to it by boat. It’s farther out than it looks-and the water is very, very deep. There are rocks all about too-you have to know exactly where to row a boat, or you bump into them. It’s a dangerous bit of coast here. There are a lot of wrecks about.”
“Wrecks!” cried Julian, his eyes shining, “I say! I’ve never seen an old wreck. Are there any to see?”
“Not now,” said George. “They’ve all been cleared up. Except one, and that’s the other side of the island. It’s deep down in the water. You can just see the broken mast if you row over it on a calm day and look down into the water. That wreck really belongs to me too.”
This time the children really could hardly believe George. But she nodded her head firmly.
“Yes,” she said, “it was a ship belonging to one of my great-great-greatgrandfathers, or someone like that. He was bringing gold-big bars of gold-back in his ship-and it got wrecked off Kirrin Island.”
“Oooh-what happened to the gold?” asked Anne, her eyes round and big.
“Nobody knows,” said George. “I expect it was stolen out of the ship. Divers have been down to see, of course, but they couldn’t find any gold.”
“Golly-this does sound exciting,” said Julian. “I wish I could see the wreck.”
“Well-we might perhaps go this afternoon when the tide is right down,” said George. “The water is so calm and clear today. We could see a bit of it.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” said Anne. “I do so want to see a real live wreck!”
The others laughed. “Well, it won’t be very alive,” said Dick. “I say, George-what about a bathe?”
“I must go and get Timothy first,” said George. She got up.
“Who’s Timothy?” said Dick.
“Can you keep a secret?” asked George. “Nobody must know at home.”
“Well, go on, what’s the secret?” asked Julian. “You can tell us. We’re not sneaks.”
“Timothy is my very greatest friend,” said George. “I couldn’t do without him. But Mother and Father don’t like him, so I have to keep him in secret. I’ll go and fetch him.”
She ran off up the cliff path. The others watched her go. They thought she was the queerest girl they had ever known.
“Who in the world can Timothy be?” wondered Julian. “Some fisher-boy, I suppose, that George’s parents don’t approve of.”
The children, lay back in the soft sand and waited. Soon they heard George’s clear voice coming down from the cliff behind them.
“Come on, Timothy! Come on!”
They sat up and looked to see what Timothy was like. They saw no fisher-boy- but instead a big brown mongrel dog with an absurdly long tail and a big wide mouth that really seemed to grin! He was bounding all round George, mad with delight. She came running down to them.
“This is Timothy,” she said. “Don’t you think he is simply perfect?”
As a dog, Timothy was far from perfect. He was the wrong shape, his head was too big, his ears were too pricked, his tail was too long and it was quite impossible to say what kind of a dog he was supposed to be. But he was such a mad, friendly, clumsy, laughable creature that every one of the children adored him at once.
“Oh, you darling!” said Anne, and got a lick on the nose.
“I say-isn’t he grand!” said Dick, and gave Timothy a friendly smack that made the dog bound madly all round him.
“I wish I had a dog like this,” said Julian, who really loved dogs, and had always wanted one of his own. “Oh, George-he’s fine. Aren’t you proud of him?”
The little girl smiled, and her face altered at once, and became sunny and pretty. She sat down on the sand and her dog cuddled up to her, licking her wherever he could find a bare piece of skin.
“I love him awfully,” she said. “I found him out on the moors when he was just a pup, a year ago, and I took him home. At first Mother liked him, but when he grew bigger he got terribly naughty.”
“What did he do?” asked Anne.
“Well, he’s an awfully chewy kind of dog,” said George. “He chewed up everything he could-a new rug Mother had bought-her nicest hat-Father’s slippers-some of his papers, and things like that. And he barked too. I liked his bark, but Father didn’t. He said it nearly drove him mad. He hit Timothy and that made me angry, so I was awfully rude to him.”
“Did you get spanked?” said Anne. “I wouldn’t like to be rude to your father. He looks fierce.”
George looked out over the bay. Her face had gone sulky again. “Well, it doesn’t matter what punishment I got,” she said, “but the worst part of all was when Father said I couldn’t keep Timothy any more, and Mother backed Father up and said Tim must go. I cried for days-and I never do cry, you know, because boys don’t and I like to be like a boy.”
“Boys do cry sometimes,” began Anne, looking at Dick, who had been a bit of a cry-baby three or four years back. Dick gave her a sharp nudge, and she said no more.
George looked at Anne.
“Boys don’t cry,” she said, obstinately. “Anyway, I’ve never seen one, and I always try not to cry myself. It’s so babyish. But I just couldn’t help it when Timothy had to go. He cried too.”
The children looked with great respect at Timothy. They had not known that a dog could cry before.
“Do you mean-he cried real tears?” asked Anne.
“No, not quite,” said George. “He’s too brave for that. He cried with his voice-howled and howled and looked so miserable that he nearly broke my heart. And then I knew I couldn’t possibly part with him.”
“What happened then?” asked Julian.
“I went to Alf, a fisher-boy I know,” said George, “and I asked him if he’d keep Tim for me, if I paid him all the pocket-money I get. He said he would, and so he does. That’s why I never have any money to spend-it all has to go on Tim. He seems to eat an awful lot-don’t you, Tim?”
“Woof!” said Tim, and rolled over on his back, all his shaggy legs in the air. Julian tickled him.
“How do you manage when you want any sweets or ice-creams?” said Anne, who spent most of her pocket-money on things of that sort.
“I don’t manage,” said George. “I go without, of course.”
This sounded awful to the other children, who loved ice-creams, chocolates and sweets, and had a good many of them. They stared at George.