"Poolvash," answered Mona.
"And what does it mean?" asked the little one.
"The Bay of Death," said Mona; "that's what they used to call it long ago, but they call it the Lockjaw now."
"And what does that mean?" asked Ruby again, with a child's tireless curiosity.
"It means, I suppose, that the tide comes up into it, and then no one can get either in or out."
"Oh, what a pity! Look at the lovely shells in the shingle," said Ruby.
Just then a step was heard on the path below, and in a moment Bill Kisseck came up beside them. He looked suspiciously at Mona and passed without a word.
"That gel of Kinvig's is sniffin' round," he said to his wife when he reached home. "She wouldn't be partikler what she'd do if she got a peep and a skute into anything."
"Didn't you say no one could get up or down the Lockjaw when the tide is up?" asked Ruby as she tripped home at Mona's side.
"Yes," said Mona, "except from the sea."
"And isn't the tide up now?" said Ruby. Mona did not answer.
That night the storm that Danny had predicted from the aspect of the "cat's tail" and the "skate" broke over Peel with terrific violence. When morning dawned it was found that barns had been unroofed and that luggers in the harbor had been torn from their moorings. The worst damage done was to the old wooden pier and
