Hours had passed. The sun was not now so very high in the heavens. From the direction of the beach came the sounds of happy shrieks; the children were having a great time there. On the window-sill of the turret chamber sat Joe, his hands in his shorts’ pockets and his feet dangling outside, looking forth disconsolately. Behind him on the floor was a platter with odd bits of dry bread, and a pitcher of clear cold water from the pump. There was nothing else behind him but a little wooden bench; the chamber was as bare and smooth as an empty jam-pot. Above him was the bright blue sky. Before him was green grass and waving forest. Below him was a nasty drop of twenty-seven feet. I don’t think I have left anything out.
Joe started suddenly and looked about, for from somewhere he had heard the hoot of the Aviola, or small downy owl, which by rights should be still asleep at that hour. He replied with the half-whistle, half-bleat of the Crested Grebe (these were secret signals), and Sylvia came worming her way out from the neighbouring herbaceous border, accompanied by their small but faithful hound. She parted her mass of curls, which had fallen across her face in the passage, and stood having a good look at him.
“Oh, Joe,” she said in the low voice of pity, “are you very beastly lonely up there?”
“Yes, Sylvia, I’m just as lonely and miserable! And I’ve had nothing to eat but some dry bread. I think they dried it on purpose.”
“And Tiger’s been wondering what’s the matter, Joe.” She held him up, and Tiger caught sight of Joe and wriggled and made moans, as of a puppy that wanted comfort. “But I’ve got something for you.”
She put down Tiger and produced a handkerchief. “I’ve got some apple sauce on bits of bread that aren’t so dry, and a piece of seedy cake. And some pears. I suppose you haven’t got a piece of string?”
“Yes I have,” he answered joyfully. “I’ve got my fishing line. Here it is. I’ve been fishing for hours and hours trying to fish up something to play with, but all I got was some bits of twigs and I couldn’t do much with them.”
Sylvia hooked her handkerchief with the provisions on to the line, and a moment later Joe was eating busily.
“You’re just like a captive princess in a tower,” she said after a time. “Like Rapunzel.”
“Except I haven’t got such long hair. I feel like an old cat up a pole—except I can’t get down. When are they going to let me out?”
“Miss Watkyns said when all of us are in bed. Isn’t she vicious?”
“But that’s hours and hours! Oh, Sylvia, I must get out!” He bounced up and down on the window-sill, and Sylvia squawked.
“Oh, Joe, you ass, you’ll fall!”
“Not me, don’t you think it.” He bounced up and down again to show his skill.
“Look here, Joe, shall I hook on Tiger? I’ll tie him in my hankie so that he won’t fall and then you can play with him for a bit—No, you keep him up there with you, and then won’t Miss Watkyns be surprised when she finds him there! She’ll think he’s got wings somehow.”
“Yes, that’d be fine. But I’ve got a much better idea, Sylvia. You just bring me that clothes-line over there.”
“What for? And it’s got nighties drying on it.”
“I don’t want them, I want only the rope. Do, Sylvia, it’s something delicious. If you don’t I’ll show you how to hang out of a window head downwards.”
“No, don’t!” cried Sylvia. “I’ll bring it.” She ran off and came back a minute later with the clothes-line, which she fastened to his fish-hook. “Nighties all over the grass. There’ll be a fine row over it if they catch me. You are a headstrong boy, Joe.”
Joe did not answer, for he was busy. He hauled up the rope and fastened one end of it to the bench, and then managed to jam the bench across the window frame. Then he called to Sylvia to stand from under.
“Because,” he said, “it’s rather a rotten piece of rope, and besides, I don’t think this silly old bench is going to stand much jerking about. But we’ll soon see.”
On the next instant, Sylvia gave a screech, for there was Joe outside the window, spinning round on the rope. But before you could count ten he had slid down to the ground and Tiger was leaping and trying to get at his face so as to lick it. Not a very wonderful trick for a circus boy, but then Sylvia didn’t know anything about circuses. She put her arms round his neck and hugged him.
“Oh, Joe,” she said, “you are a brave boy! You looked just like a clean monkey coming down—except that you haven’t got a tail. But how are you going to get the rope put back?”
“I’m not bothering about the rope,” said Joe. “You see we’re just going to run away.”
“Run away! What for?”
“For fun. I’m not going to be locked up by anybody. I’m going over to see the Snergs, and you’ve got to come with me. Tiger’s coming, too, of course. We’ll have a glorious time!”
“What do you mean, you contentious infant?” (She sometimes used words she had heard from Miss Watkyns and other ladies.) “It’s miles and miles and miles! And you don’t know the way there.”
“Yes I do. It’s straight over there, just a little bit this side of where the sun goes under. We’ll just go that way until we can’t see it, and then we’ll sleep in a nice place in the forest.”
“Yes, Clever, and what about to-morrow? The sun’s always over the sea in the morning.”
“Then all we’ve got to do is to go the other way. Can’t you see?”
Sylvia was rather impressed by his resourcefulness. “Yes, but what about afterwards, Joe,” she said after a moment. “What will Miss Watkyns do when she knows about it?”
“Yes, but what happens afterwards will happen afterwards. Can’t you see? Come along, Sylvia, it’s adventures, like those tales your nurse told you about. And it’s much better being a tale than just hearing it. We’ll sleep in the forest to-night—it’s nice and warm—and to-morrow sometime we’ll be at the Snerg’s place and have a jolly time with them. Just think what the other kids will think of us. Won’t they be jealous!”
How it happened Sylvia could never quite make out, but she found herself running along hand-in-hand with Joe over the soft turf, with Tiger bouncing alongside of them and sometimes tumbling over his own barks, drawing nearer and nearer to the trees which looked so cool and inviting on that warm afternoon.
“Oh, Joe,” she panted as she ran, “what an absurd mite you are!”