I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.
"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any "s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now. Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."
"Help! Help!" whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself out of the hammock and went in for her hat.
We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us. Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.
"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this distance you can't be certain of recognising an island you don't know. Any small cloud on the horizon will do."
"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed. When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_,?" as though you'd rather expected the Isle of Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!
We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now trailed eagerly.
"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one is prouder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be alone."
"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."
"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it thirteen--all these thirteen are ours is very inspiring. But I don't like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little Philomène, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a father."
"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forgot their pocket-money last week."
"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four---- Myra, I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell mo how many we have. One likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."