Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busy takin’ things apart.  He’s getting’ himself all smeared up with grease and oil too.  Pity; for he’d started out lookin’ so neat and nifty.  Meanwhile we’d fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up with cushions, and she’s noddin’ contented.

“Guess I’ll do some exploring” says I.

“But I’ve been wanting to do that this half-hour,” says Vee.

“Well, let’s then,” says I.

“Go on,” says Mabel, “and tell me about it afterward.”

Oh, yes, we explores.  Say, I’m a bear for that too!  You have to go hand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin’.  And the fog makes it all the nicer.  We didn’t go far before we came to the edge.  Then we cross in another direction, and comes to more edge.

“Why, we’re on a little island!” says Vee.

“Big enough for us,” says I.  “Here’s a good place to sit down too.”  We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine view of the fog.

“How silly of you to come away up here,” says Vee, “just because—­well, just because.”

“It’s the only wise move I was ever guilty of,” says I.  “I feel like I had Solomon in the grammar grade.”

“But how did you happen to get here—­with Payne?” says she.

“Hypnotized him,” says I.  “That part was a cinch.”

“And until to-day you didn’t know where we were, or anything,” says she.

“I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon,” says I.  “Saw you too.”

“Yesterday!” says she.  “Why, no one came near all the afternoon; that is, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat.”

“Uh-huh,” says I.  “One was me, in disguise.”

“Torchy!” says she, gaspin’.  And somehow she snuggles up a little closer after that.  “I didn’t think when I wrote,” she goes on, “that you would be so absurd.”

“Maybe I was,” says I.  “But I took it straight, that part about it bein’ stupid up here.  I was figurin’ on liftin’ the gloom.  I hadn’t counted on Payne.”

“Well, what then?” says she, tossin’ her chin up.

“Nothin’,” says I.  “Guess you were right, too.”

“He only came the other day,” says Vee; “but he’s nice.”

“Aunty thinks so too, don’t she?” says I.

“Why, yes,” admits Vee.

“Another chosen one, is he?” says I.

Vee flushes.  “I don’t care!” says she.  “He is rather nice.”

“Correct,” says I.  “I found him that way too; but ain’t he—­well, just a little stiff in the neck?”

That brings out a giggle.  “Poor Payne!” says Vee.  “He is something of a stick, you know.”

“We’ll forgive him for that,” says I.  “We’ll forgive Mabel.  We’ll forgive the fog.  Eh?” Then my arm must have slipped.

“Why, Torchy!” says she.

“Oh!” says I.  “Thought you were too near the edge.”  And the side clinch wa’n’t disturbed.