Meanwhile Tom and Mrs. Beauchamp had bought the sand-shoes and various other little necessaries, had had tea in an Oriental coffee shop, and, as the climax of a delightful afternoon, were coming home on the top of a tram—­a leisurely proceeding that gave plenty of time for enjoyment.  The weather had clouded over early in the afternoon, but they were halfway home before a fine rain began to fall and to blot out the shimmering sea.  Just at sunset it cleared up for a little while, and a long path of gold stretched straight away to the horizon, showing the rocks and the island silhouetted very clear and black against a pale yellow sky.

“Mother,” said Tom suddenly, “do the goats ever come down to drink?”

“What goats?”

“The goats on the island?”

“And do they drink what?”

“The sea.”

“Oh dear no, Tom; they would not drink the sea-water—­it is much too salt.  I expect they stay on the island all the summer and come home in winter.  I know their masters go and look after them at low tide.”

“Well, is it low tide now?” persisted Tom.

Mrs. Beauchamp peered into the dusk.

“No; it is nearly high, I think.  There is very little of the rocks to be seen.”

“Well, there is something scrambling about on the island, quite low down, and it looks just like goats.”

“Sea-birds, Tom?”

“They don’t scramble,” said Tom.

“Well, fishermen perhaps.  Show me where you see them.”

But the black dots had disappeared.  The fine drizzling rain had come on again, and the island was misty; heavy clouds were banked on the horizon, and it had grown suddenly cold and dark.

“Come inside, Tom,” said Mrs. Beauchamp; “hold on to the rail and don’t tumble off.  Isn’t it pleasant to think of the warm, cosy nursery and supper?”

“Is it supper-time?” asked Tom, amazed.

“Well, it is past six, and we are a good way from home yet.  I hope all the family were safe under shelter before the rain came on.  Do you see the white horses dashing up the sides of the island?  It looks very cold, doesn’t it?”

“I’m glad I’m not a goat,” said Tom.

“So am I!  See, there are the Parade lights.  Get all the parcels together, and be ready to jump off when we stop.”

A shopping expedition alone with mother was always a great treat.  There was so much to tell afterwards—­so many parcels to open and examine.  Tom scampered up the Parade in advance of Mrs. Beauchamp’s soberer footsteps, so it was he who first caught sight of nurse’s face when the door was opened to his clamorous knock.

“Go up to the nursery, Master Tom,” she said.

Tom dashed on merrily, and a minute later he heard his mother’s voice in the hall, with a quick note of anxiety in it.

“What is it, nurse?”

“It’s Miss Susie,” said nurse, “and Master Dick.”

Tom hung over the banisters to hear more.