"We've made a proper mess of things this time!" ejaculated Ross Trefusis—"or rather I have." "It can't be helped," rejoined his chum, Vernon Haye. "We've done our level best to get her off. How long is it before the tide floats her?" "A matter of seven or eight hours, worse luck. You see, it was only half ebb when we landed." Ross bent down to remove a streak of bluish-grey mud from his ankle. "I wish we'd taken the rowing-boat instead of this heavy old tub," he continued. "We'll be pretty peckish before we get back to the Hall, and dinner's at seven-thirty." Vernon laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time I've had to go without grub," he remarked. "If you don't mind, I don't." "Then it's no use standing here," said Ross. "Let's get on our shoes and go for a stroll." Vernon Haye was a broad-shouldered lad of fifteen, with clear-cut features and dark hair. His companion was of about the same age, but a good two inches taller. His complexion was florid, his hair of an auburn tint that narrowly escaped coming within the category of red or ginger. His features were full and rounded. In short, he was a typical Cornish youth.