The great house-door was opened, and Aunt Clarissa came out to meet them from the lighted hall.

“Is it you?” she cried.  “Thank God!” and she drew them into the house.

Mrs. Stanhope had not gone to bed.  She was standing just inside the door.

“Now you may tell me all about it,” she said, looking seriously at the children, who presented a shocking appearance.  “So, you’ve been in the water!  Where are the men?”

The children stammered out that they had seen no men.  They had just come up from the station.

Mrs. Stanhope shook her head.

“Some one must be sent to the fisherman’s hut to tell the men to stop the search,” she said coldly.  “I will leave the care of the children to more skilful hands”; and she withdrew without more words.

Aunt Clarissa put them to bed directly, and a big pitcher of hot tea was brought to each of them, from which they had to drink one steaming cup after another, till they were warmed through.  Then Clarissa sat down first by Emma’s bed, and then by Fani’s, to learn exactly what had happened, and whether they had met with any injuries that would need a doctor’s attention.

In the midst of assurances that they were not injured, and of attempts to explain what had happened, the two tired miscreants fell asleep, and Aunt Clarissa went to her room with thankful heart that things were no worse.

The next morning Fani was determined, in spite of his weariness of limb, to be punctual at the breakfast table.  He sprang out of bed the moment that he waked, and dressed an hour too early.  He went into the garden to listen to the birds; he thought their happy singing might make him happier.  As he was walking up and down, he saw the fisherman coming into the court-yard.  He went to meet him.  The man stopped and lifted his cap politely.  “I know what you have come for,” said Fani, taking out his purse; “how much do I owe you?”

The man turned his cap about in his hands, as if he were turning his thoughts over too.

“I don’t want to be unreasonable,” he said presently, “and I don’t suppose a young gentleman like you knows how much a boat with all its belongings is worth.  I cannot say less than eighty marks; I shall lose at that, but I will not ask more.”

Fani stood thunder-struck.  Of course, as the boat was lost, he must make it good.  But eighty marks!  He had never even seen so much money as that.  He was speechless.  The fisherman looked thoughtfully at him.  Presently he said modestly:—­

“I can understand that you cannot pay me the money yourself; you will have to ask your mother for it.  I will come again to-morrow.”

“No, no!” cried Fani.  “I will bring it to you as soon as I get it.  I will certainly come,” he added, as he saw the man’s disappointed look.  “I shall keep my word; only I can’t say exactly when.”

It seemed as if the man had something more to say; but he swallowed it down, and went away, muttering to himself, “No boat! and no money to buy another!”