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Chapter Thirteen AFTERNOON WITH MARTIN

By the time they reached the coastguard's cottage the sun was out. It was a real April day, with sudden showers and then the sun sweeping¹ out, smiling. Every thing glittered, especially the sea.

It was wet underfoot, but the children had on their rubber boots. They looked for the coastguard.

As usual he was in his shed, singing and hammering.

'Good-day to you,' he said, beaming all over his red face. 'I was wondering when you'd come and see me again. How do you like, this railway station I'm making?'

'It's better' than any I've ever seen in the shops,' said Anne, in great admiration².

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The  coastguard  certainly  had  made  it  well,  down  to  the  smallest'  detail.  He  nodded  his  head towards some small wooden figures of porters and guards and passengers.

'Those are waiting to be painted,' he said. 'That boy Martin said he'd come in and do them for me.

Very handy with his paints he is, a proper artist but he's had an accident.'

'Has he? What happened?' said Julian.

'I don't quite know. He was half-carried home this morning by his father,' said the coastguard.

'Must have slipped and fallen somewhere. I went out to ask, but Mr. Curton was in a hurry to get the boy on a couch. Why don't you go in and ask after him? He's a queer sort of boy  -- but he's not a bad boy.'

'Yes, we will go and ask,' said Julian. 'I say, coastguard, would you mind if we looked through your telescope again?'

'Now  you  go and look  at  all  you want  to!' said  the fellow. 'I tell  you,  you won't  wear it out  by looking! I saw the signal from your father's tower last night, Miss George  - just happened to be looking that way. He went on flashing for a long time, didn't he?'

'Yes,' said George 'Thank you. I'll go and have a look now.'

She went to the telescope and trained it on her island. But no matter where she looked she could not see Timmy, or her father. They' must be down in his workroom, wherever it was. She looked at  the  glass room in the  top  of the tower. That was  empty too,  of  course. She sighed.  It  would have been nice to see Timmy. The others had a look through as well, but nobody saw Timmy. It was plain that he was keeping close to his master -- a proper little guard!

'Well -- shall we go in and see what's happened to Martin?' said 'Julian, when they had finished with the telescope. 'It's just about to pour with rain again - another April shower! We could wait next-door till it's over.'

'Right. Let's go,' 'said, Dick. He looked at George. 'Don't be afraid I shall be rude, George. Now that I know Mr. Curton is a journalist, shan't bother, about him.'

'All  the  same  --  I'm  not  "blabbing"  any  more,'  said  George,  with  a  grin.  'I  see  your  point  now even if it doesn't matter, I still shan't "blab" any more."

'Good for you!' said Dick, pleased. 'Spoken like a boy!'

'Ass³!' said George, but she was pleased all the same. They went through the front gateway⁵ of the next cottage. As they filed in, they heard an angry voice.

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'Well,  you  can't!  Always  wanting  to  mess  about  with  a  brush  and  paint.  I  thought  I'd  knocked that idea out of  your head. You lie still and get that ankle-better. Spraining⁶ it just when  I want your help!'

Anne  stopped,  feeling  frightened.  It  was  Mr.  Curton's  voice  they  could  hear  through  the  open window.  He  was  giving  Martin  a  good  talking  to  about  something  that  was  plain.  The  others stopped  too,  wondering  whether  to  go  in  or  not.  Then  they  heard  a  bang,  and  saw  Mr.  Curton leaving the cottage from the back entrance. He walked rapidly down the garden there and made for the path, that led to the back of the cliff. There was a road there that went to the village.

'Good. He's gone. And he didn't see us!' said Dick. 'Who would have thought that such a genial⁷, smiling fellow could have such a rough brutal⁸ voice when he loses his temper? Come on  - let's pop in and see poor Martin while there's a chance.'

They knocked on the door. 'It's us!' called Julian cheerfully. 'Can we come in?'

'Oh  yes!'  shouted  Martin  from  indoors,  sounding  pleased.  Julian  opened  the  door  and  they  all went in.

'I say! We heard you'd had an accident,' said Julian. 'What's up? Are you hurt much?'

'No. It's just that I twisted my ankle, and it was so painful to walk on that I had to be half-carried up here, said Martin. 'Silly thing to do!'

'Oh - it'll soon be right if it's just a twist,' said Dick. 'I've often done that. The thing is to walk on it as soon as you can. Where were you when you fell?'

Martin  went  suddenly  red,  to  everyone's  surprise.  'Well  --  I  was  walking  on  the  edge  of  the quarry⁹ with my father -- and I slipped and rolled a good way down,' he said.

There was a silence. Then George spoke⁴. '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!'

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'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 an ordinary boy - he never made a joke, or said anything silly.

'Aren't you bored, lying here?' said Anne, feeling sorry for him.

'Yes, awfully¹⁰. 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.

'Oh -- 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.'

'It's all right. If it's good for me to try and walk, I will,' said Martin, and got off the couch. He put his  right  foot gingerly to the floor and then stood  up. 'Not so  bad after all!' he said.  He limped across the room to a bookcase. He put his hand behind the second row of books and brought out a cardboard case, big and flat. He took it to the table. He opened it and spread out some pictures.

'Gracious!' said Anne. 'They're beautiful! Did you really do these?'

They  were  queer  pictures  for  a  boy  to  draw,  for  they  were  of  flowers  and  trees,  birds  and butterflies -- all drawn¹² and coloured most perfectly¹³, every detail put in lovingly. Julian looked at them in surprise. This boy was certainly gifted. Why, these drawings were as good as any he had ever seen in exhibitions! He picked a few up and took them to the window.

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'Do you mean to say your father doesn't think these are good, doesn't think it's worth while to let you train as an artist?' he said, in surprise.

'He hates my pictures,' said Martin, bitterly. 'I ran away from school, and went to an art-school to train  --  but  he  found  me  and  forbade  me  to  think  of  drawing  any  more.  He  thinks  it's  a  weak, feeble thing for a man to do. So I only do it in secret now.'

The children looked at Martin with sympathy. It seemed an awful thing to them that a boy who had  no  mother,  should  have  a  father  who  hated  the  thing  his  son  most  loved.  No  wonder  he always looked dull and miserable¹⁴ and sullen¹⁵!

'It's very bad luck,' said Julian at last. 'I wish we could do something to help.'

'Well -- get me those figures and the paint tins from the coastguard,' said Martin, eagerly. 'Will you? Father won't be back till six. I'll have time to do them. And do stay and have tea with me.

It's so dull up here. I hate it.'

'Yes, I'll get the things for you,' said Julian. 'I can't for the life of me see why you shouldn't have something to  amuse  yourself with if  you want to. And we'll ring up my aunt and tell her we're staying here to tea -- so long as we don't eat everything you've got!'

'Oh,  that's  all  right,'  said  Martin,  looking  very  cheerful  indeed.  'There's  plenty  of  food  in  the house. My father has an enormous appetite. I say, thanks most awfully.'

Julian  rang  up  his  aunt.  The  girls  and  Dick  went  to  fetch  the  figures  and  the  paint  from  the coastguard.  They  brought  them  back  and  arranged  them  on  a  table  beside  Martin.  His  eyes brightened at once. He seemed quite different.

'This is grand,' he said. 'Now I can get on! It's a silly little job, this, but it will help the old man next door, and I'm always happy when I'm messing about with a brush and paints!'

Martin was very, very clever at painting the little figures. He was quick and deft¹⁶, and Anne sat watching him, quite fascinated. George went to hunt in the larder¹⁷ 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 ginger¹¹ 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?'