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W'ich I remain yours respectfully Now 'and over the pen an' let me sign." "'Olmness? Where's 'Olmness?" She took the pen from him and slowly printed TILDA, in roman capitals; examined the signature, made sure it was satisfactory, and at length answered "It's a Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel, w'ich is in the Free Library. We've just come from there."
This is Arthur Miles, an' I've told 'im all along as you're the best and 'elpfullest o' men an' so you are, if you pull yerself together. 'E only wants to get to a place called 'Olmness, w'ich is right below 'ere " "'Olmness?" "It's an Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel. It it can't be far, Bill an' I got 'arf-a-sufferin' " "Where?" asked Bill with unexpected promptness.
And this made him more confident than ever. "But why do you want to know?" the old chemist went on. "Is it home lessons?" "'E," said Tilda, indicating Arthur Miles, "'e wants to find a relation 'e's got there a kind of uncle in 'Olmness, w'ich is in the Gazetteer," she repeated, as though the scent lay hidden in a nest of boxes, "'w'ich is in the Free Library."
Never a vessel comes hereabouts, and 'tis the Lord's mercy you han't run her ashore." "The Lord will provide," answered the skipper piously, "Which-a-way lies Cardiff, say you?" The old man pointed. But while he pointed Tilda ran forward. "'Olmness? Is it 'Olmness?" He stared up. "Holmness it is, missie? But why?" "An' you'll take us off? We're 'ere with a message.
"If you won't come with me, I'm going alone." "Eh?" She stared at him across the moon-ray, for he had gone back to the window and lifted the curtain again. "But where in the world?" "To Holmness." "'Olmness? . . . It's crazed you are." "I am not crazed at all. It's all quite easy, I tell you easy and simple.
The boy did not answer. He knew the way pretty well, for this was their fourth journey. But the moonlight did not reach, save here and there, the hollows through which the path wound, and each step had to be carefully picked. "Look 'ere," she essayed again after a while, "I won't say but this is a lark, if on'y you'll put that nonsense about 'Olmness out of yer mind.
Island's a sort o' place, but no place in partic'lar." "I don't know . . . It must have been the Island, though." "Now listen. Did you ever 'appen to 'ear tell of 'Olmness?" She asked it eagerly, watching his face. But it gave no answer to her hopes. His eyes were dreamy. The word, if it struck at all on his hearing, struck dully.
'Which at Tukesberry, happening to come across a gentleman friend of mine, as used to work for Gavel, and by name William, this American gentleman "Sounds odd, don't it?" interposed Tilda. "There's too much about gentlemen in it," the boy suggested. "Well, but you're a gentleman. We shall find that out, right enough, when we get to 'Olmness.
"We got none," Tilda assured him. "For a steady-going country like England that's unusual, eh?" "There is a bit o' that about us," she conceded after a pause. "But you must belong to somebody?" he urged. "He do . . . And that's what I got to find out. But it'll be all right when we get to 'Olmness." "Holmness?" queried Mr. Jessup. "Where's Holmness?"
Strike me dead if you didn'!" Tilda fetched a grip on herself; but the hand, its fingers closing on air, drew back and dropped, as though cut off from the galvanising current. She had even presence of mind to note that the other hand the hand on which the body propped itself, still half-erect, wore a plain ring of gold. "You talked a lot about 'Olmness and Arthur. 'Oo's Arthur?"
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