Martin went suddenly red, to everyone’s surprise. “Well — I was walking on the edge of the quarry with my father — and I slipped and rolled a good way down,” he said.

There was a silence. Then George spoke. “I say,” she said, “I hope you didn’t go and give away our little secret to your father? I mean — it’s not so much fun when grown-ups share a secret. They want to go snooping about themselves — and it’s much more fun to discover things by ourselves. You didn’t tell him about that hole under the shelf of rock, did you?”

Martin hesitated. “I’m afraid I did,” he said at last. “I didn’t think it would matter. I’m sorry.”

“Blow!” said Dick. “That was our own little discovery. We wanted to go and explore it this afternoon, but we thought it would be so wet we’d fall down the steep slope.”

Julian looked at Martin sharply. “I suppose that’s what happened to you?” he said. “You tried clambering down and slipped!”

“Yes,” said Martin. “I’m really sorry if you thought it was your secret. I just mentioned it to my father out of interest — you know — something to say — and he wanted to go down and see for himself.”

“I suppose journalists are always like that,” said Dick. “Wanting to be on the spot if there’s anything to be ferreted out. It’s their job. All right, Martin — forget it. But do try and head your father off the quarry. We would like to do a bit of exploring, before he butts in. Though there may be nothing to be found at all!”

There was a pause. Nobody knew quite what to say. Martin was rather difficult to talk to. He didn’t talk like any ordinary boy — he never made a joke, or said anything silly.

“Aren’t you bored, lying here?” said Anne feeling sorry for him.

“Yes, awfully. I wanted my father to go in and ask the coastguard to bring in some little figures I said I’d paint for him,” said Martin. “But he wouldn’t let me. You know I simply love painting — even doing a little thing like that — painting clothes on toy porters and guards — so long as I can have a brush in my hand and colours to choose from!”

This was the longest speech Martin had ever made to the four children! His face lost its dull, bored look as he spoke, and became bright and cheerful.

“O — you want to be an artist, I suppose?” said Anne. “I would like that too!”

“Anne! you can’t even draw a cat that looks like one!” said Dick, scornfully. “And when you drew a cow I thought it was an elephant.”

Martin smiled at Anne’s indignant face. “I’ll show you some of my pictures,” he said. “I have to keep them hidden away, because my father can’t bear me to want to be an artist!”

“Don’t get up if you don’t want to,” said Julian. “I’ll get them for you.”