“why, it’s afternoon already. I was just saying to Dixon that I thought maybe he ought to run down to see if you were all right, or happen go along the road to Holly Howe to see if you were gone home.”
These natives! Friendly though they were, there was never any knowing what mischief they might do. It was just that thought that had made John jump up in such a hurry when he saw the time. If Mr. Dixon had gone along to Holly Howe to ask what had happened, and whether the milk was wanted, mother would have been bound to think that something had gone wrong. And nothing had gone wrong at all. Everything had gone right. John knew well enough that mother counted on the regular morning visit to Dixon’s farm for the milk to keep her in touch with the Swallows. Mother knew that the Dixons would let her know at once if no one had come up from the island with the milk-can. Natives were like that, useful in a way, but sometimes a bother. They all held together, a huge network of gossip and scouting, through the meshes of which it was difficult for explorers and pirates to slip.
“I’d have run along myself, first thing,” said Mrs. Dixon, “if I hadn’t been that busy.”
“Well,” thought John, “it was a good thing that the natives had plenty to do.”
“What was gone with you?” asked Mrs. Dixon, bustling round and pouring the milk out of a great bowl. “Did you sleep so hard you never wanted any breakfast?”
“I did,” said Roger.
“We overslept,” said John. “We were late in going to bed.”
“You were that,” said Mrs. Dixon. “We saw the light you had on the island when we were going to bed, and that was ten o’clock, for we were none too early ourselves.”