Martin was very, very clever at painting the little figures. He was quick and deft, and Anne sat watching him, quite fascinated. George went to hunt in the larder for the tea-things. There was certainly plenty of food! She cut some bread and butter, found some new honey, brought out a huge chocolate cake and some ginger buns, and put the kettle on to boil.

“I say, this is really grand,” said Martin again. “I wish my father wasn’t coming back till eight. By the way — where’s the dog? I thought he always went everywhere with you! Where’s Timmy?”

Chapter Fourteen

A shock for George

Dick looked at George. He didn’t think it would matter telling Martin where Timmy was, so long as George didn’t give the reason why he had been left on the island.

But George was going to hold her tongue now. She looked at Martin and spoke quite airily. “Oh, Timmy? We left him behind today. He’s all right.”

“Gone out shopping with your mother, I suppose, hoping for a visit to the butcher’s!” said Martin. This was the first joke he had ever made to the children, and though it was rather a feeble one they laughed heartily. Martin looked pleased. He began to try and think of another little joke, while his deft hands put reds and blues and greens on the little wooden figures.

They all had a huge tea. Then, when the clock said a quarter to six the girls carried the painted figures carefully back to the coastguard, who was delighted with them. Dick took back the little tins of paint, and the brush stuck in a jar of turpentine.

“Well now, he’s clever that boy, isn’t he?” said the coastguard, eyeing the figures in delight. “Looks sort of miserable and sulky — but he’s not a bad sort of boy!”

“I’ll just have one more squint through your telescope,” said George, “before it gets too dark.”

She tilted it towards her island. But once more there was no sign of Timmy, or of her father either. She looked for some time, and then went to join the others. She shook her head as they raised their eyebrows inquiringly.

The girls washed up the tea-things, and cleared away neatly. Nobody felt as if they wanted to wait and see Mr Curton. They didn’t feel as if they liked him very much, now they knew how hard he was on Martin.

“Thanks for a lovely afternoon,” said Martin, limping to the door with them. “I enjoyed my spot of painting, to say nothing of your company.”

“You stick out for your painting,” said Julian. “If it’s the thing you’ve got to do, and you know it, you must go all out for it. See?”

“Yes,” said Martin, and his face went sullen again. “But there are things that make it difficult — things I can’t very well tell you. Oh well — never mind! I dare say it will all come right one day, and I’ll be a famous artist with pictures in the academy!”