CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE PANGS OF COLD PUDDING.
"A burnt child fears the fire." So says the old proverb; and therefore it was quite reasonable for a couple of big lads to feel a certain sensation of shrinking when they talked about their adventure while trying to investigate the mysteries surrounding the portion of Crag, or Cormorant Island, as it was called, known as the Scraw.
For they did talk about it a great deal.

Then, too, Vince had some _very_ unpleasant dreams about hanging over a tremendous gulf.

One night in particular he was especially bad.
It happened in this way: Mike came over to the Doctor's cottage one evening after tea--though this was no novelty, for he was always coming over to the cottage after tea, when Vince was not going over to Sir Francis Ladelle's quaint, semi-fortified house, which had stood there for hundreds of years, being repaired by its various occupants, but very little altered.

In fact, when the little island was for sale, many years before this story commences, and the baronet became the purchaser, he was so pleased with the old place that he determined to keep up the traditions of the past, in spite of low ceilings, dark windows, and what Mike described to Vince as "the jolly old ghosts," which, being interpreted, meant rats.
So Mike came over one evening, after Vince had eaten a tremendous meal, and the two lads went out for a stroll to the cliff edge, where there was always something to see, returning after dusk by the light of the moon and glowworms, of which there were abundance.

Then Vince had to see Mike up to the gates of the old house; and, to make things straight, Mike said he would walk back a few yards with him, the few yards being so elastic that they stretched out to five hundred, more or less.
At last Vince reached home and had his supper, which had been put out for him, and when he had finished, found that the sea air and exercise had made him ravenous.
"I must have something else to eat," he said to himself, and he was going into the parlour to speak upon this important subject to Mrs Burnet; but as he reached the door he could hear her pleasant voice, and he knew what was going on, though he could not see through the panels.
For the picture rose plainly before his mind's eye of his father lying back in his easy chair, tired out with his round of the island and gardening, while by the light of a pair of mould candles-- _What_?
You don't know what mould candles are?
The happier you! People did fifty years ago, and they were largely used by those who could not afford wax or spermaceti; and they did what Vince heard the Doctor do from time to time--took up the old-fashioned, scissor-like snuffers from their plated tray, snuffed the candles, and laid them back with a sharp click.