ON THE CLIFFS.
"We saw the great ocean ablaze in the sun,
And heard the deep roar of the waves."
The gate in question proved to be the level crossing, which had just
been closed by the man from the signal-box to allow a train to pass
through. Charlotte and Aggie Wright and five of the Rokebys were all
standing upon the bars, hanging over the top rail and gazing at the
metals with such deep and intense interest that you would have thought
they expected a railway accident at the very least, and were looking out
for the smash.
"What _is_ the matter?" cried Belle and Isobel, racing up to share in
whatever excitement might be on hand. "Do you see anything? Is it a cow
on the line?"
"No," said Bertie Rokeby, balancing himself rather insecurely upon the
gate post; "we're only waiting for the train to pass. We've put pennies
on the rail, and the wheels going over them will flatten them out till
they're nearly twice as big. You'd hardly believe what a difference it
makes. Would you like to try one? I'd just have time to climb down and
put it on before the train comes up. I will in a minute, if you say the
word."
"I haven't a penny with me, I'm afraid," answered Isobel, rummaging in
her pockets, and turning out several interesting pebbles, a few shells,
a mermaid's purse, and the remains of a spider crab. "Stop a moment! No,
it's only a button after all, and a horn one, too, that would be smashed
to smithereens. If it had been a metal one I'd have tried it."
"I've nothing but a halfpenny," said Belle. "It's all I possess in the
world till to-morrow, when I get my pocket-money. But do put it on,
Bertie; it would be fun to see how large it makes it."
Bertie climbed over the gate and popped the coin with the others on the
rail, much to the agitation of the pointsman, who ran in great anger
from the signal-box, shouting to him to get off the line, for the train
was coming. He was barely in time, for in another moment the express
came whirling by with such a roar and a rattle, and making such a blast
of wind as it went, that the children had to shut their eyes and cling
on tightly.
"You'll get into trouble here if you get over them bars when I've shut
'em," grunted the pointsman surlily, opening the gates to admit a
waiting cart from the other side. "I'll take your name next time as you
tries it on, and report you to the inspector, and you'll get charged
with trespassing on the company's property."
"Oh, bother!" cried Bertie; "I wasn't doing any harm. I can take jolly
good care of myself, so don't you worry about me." And he rushed
impatiently after the others, who were already picking up their pennies
from the rail.
"It's crushed them ever so flat!" exclaimed Aggie Wright, triumphantly
holding up a dinted copper which seemed to be several sizes too large.
"You can scarcely see which is heads and which is tails," said Arnold
Rokeby.
"Just look at my halfpenny," said Belle; "it's twice as big as it was
before."
"Why, so it is! Any one would take it for a penny if they didn't look at
it closely. Come along. They want to shut the gates again for a luggage
train, and we shall have to clear out. We're all going to the Pixies'
Steps. Are you two coming with us?"
"No, I think not," replied Belle. "It's too hot to walk so far. Isobel
and I just want to stroll about."
"Then good-bye. We're off.--Come along, Cecil. For goodness' sake don't
go grubbing in the hedge now after caterpillars. Even if it _is_ a
woolly bear, you'll find plenty more another day.--Here, Arnold, you
young monkey, give me my cap." And the Rokebys tore away up the road
with a characteristic energy that even the blazing August heat could not
quench.
"If we go behind Hunt's farm," said Isobel, "we can turn up the path to
the churchyard, and get on to the cliffs just over the quay. It's a
short cut, and much nicer than the road."
So they crossed the line again by the footbridge, passing the station,
where the porter, overcome with the heat, was having a comfortable
snooze on his hand-barrow; then, facing towards the sea, they climbed
the steep track which zigzagged up the face of the cliff to the old
church. The door was open, and the children stole inside for a minute
and stood quietly gazing round the nave. It was cool and shady there,
with the rich glow from the stained-glass windows falling in checkered
rays of blue and crimson and orange upon the twisted pillars and the
carved oak pews. The choir was practising in the chancel, and as they
sang, the sun, slanting through the diamond panes of the south transept,
made a very halo of glory round the head of the ancient, time-worn
monument of St. Alcuin, the Saxon abbot, below. Crosier and mitre had
long ago been chipped away by the ruthless hands of Cromwell's soldiers,
but they had spared the face, and the light shone full on the closed
eyes and the calm, sleeping mouth. Isobel moved a little nearer, trying
to spell out the half-effaced letters of the inscription. She knew the
story of how the pagan Norsemen had sacked the abbey, and had murdered
the abbot on the steps of the altar, where he had remained alone to pray
when his monks had fled to safety; but the words were in Latin, and she
could not read them.
"For all the saints who from their labours rest," chanted the choir
softly, the music of their voices mingling strangely with the shouts of
the children at play which rose up from the beach below.
"He looks as though he were resting," thought Isobel; "not dead--only
just sleeping until he was wanted again. I suppose he's one of the
'saints in light' now. What a long, long time it is since he lived here!
I wonder if he knows they built a church and called it St. Alcuin's
after him."
"Here's the verger coming," whispered Belle, pulling at her hand. "I
think we'd better go."
"Let us sit down; shall we?" said Isobel, when they were out in the
glare of the sunshine once more on the broad flagged path which led from
the church door to the steps looking down on to the sea.
"Not here, though," replied Belle; "I don't like gravestones--they make
me feel horrid and creepy."
"Under the lich-gate, then," suggested Isobel. "It'll be cooler, for
it's in the shade, and there's a seat, too."
"What a simply broiling day!" said Belle, settling herself as
luxuriously as possible in the corner, and pulling off her hat to fan
her hot face. "I don't like such heat as this; it takes my hair out of
curl," tenderly twisting one of her flaxen ringlets into its proper
orthodox droop.
"It's jolly here. We get a little wind, and we can watch everything all
round," said Isobel, sitting with her chin in her hands, and gazing over
the water to where the herring fleet was tacking back to the harbour.
The children could scarcely have chosen a sweeter spot to rest. Below
them lay the sea, a broad flat expanse of blue, getting a little hazy
gray on the horizon, and with a greenish ripple where it neared the
rocks, upon which its waves were always dashing with a dull, booming
sound.
The old town, with its red roofs and poppy-filled gardens, made such a
spot of brightness against the blue sea that it suggested the brilliant
colouring of a foreign port, all the more so in contrast to the gray
tower of the church behind and the wind-swept yew trees which had
somehow managed to survive the winter storms. The grass had been mown in
the churchyard, and filled the air with a fragrant scent of hay; a big
bumble-bee buzzed noisily over a bed of wild thyme under the wall, and a
swallow was feeding a row of young ones upon the ridged roof of the
sexton's cottage. In the great stretch of blue above, the little fleecy
clouds formed themselves into snowy mountains with valleys and lakes
between, a kind of dream country in purest white, and Isobel wondered
whether, if one could sail straight on to the very verge of the distance
where sea and sky seemed to meet, one could slip altogether over the
invisible line that bounds the horizon, and find oneself floating in
that cloudland region.
"It's like the edge of heaven," she thought. "I think the saints must
live there, and the cherubim and seraphim much farther and higher
up--right in the blue part. One could never see _them_; but perhaps
sometimes on a day like this the saints might come back a little way out
of the light and nearer to the earth where they used to live, and if one
looked very hard one might manage to catch a glimpse of them just where
the sun's shining on that white piece."
"O blest communion! fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle; they in glory shine!"
came wafted through the open church door, the sound of the singing,
rather far off and subdued, seeming to join in harmony with the lap of
the waves, the hum of the bees, the cries of the sea-gulls, the
twittering of the swallows, and all the other glad voices of nature. It
looked such a beautiful, joyful, delightful, glorious world that Isobel
sat very quietly for a time just drinking in the sweet air and the
sunshine, and feeling, without exactly knowing why, that it was good to
be there.
"Are you asleep?" said Belle at last, in an injured tone; "you haven't
spoken to me for at least five minutes. I'm sure it must be getting near
tea-time. Let us go now."
"All right," said Isobel, recalling herself with a start--she had almost
forgotten Belle's existence for the moment. "It's so nice on these
steps, one feels as if one were up above everything. It's like being on
the roof of the world. Perhaps that was why St. Alcuin and the monks
built the abbey here; it seems so very near to the sky."
"What a queer girl you are sometimes!" said Belle, looking at her
curiously; "I believe you're fond of old churches and musty-fusty
monuments. Come along. We'll buy some sweets or some pears as we go
home."
It was a change indeed from the cliff top to the bustle and noise of the
little town below. Most of the fish-stalls were empty in the market, for
the stock of herrings and mackerel had been sold off earlier in the day;
but a travelling bazaar was in full swing, and exhibited a bewildering
display of toys, tea-cups, mugs, tin cans, looking-glasses, corkscrews,
and many other wonderful and miscellaneous articles, any of which might
be bought for the sum of one penny. The main street, narrow and
twisting, ran steeply uphill, the high gabled houses crowding each other
as if they were trying to peep over one another's shoulders; from the
side alleys came the mingled odours of sea-weed and frying fish, and a
persistent peddler hawking brooms shouted himself hoarse in his efforts
to sell his wares. Under the wide archway at the corner by the market
stood a tiny fruit-shop, where piles of plums and early apples, bunches
of sweet peas and dahlias, baskets of tomatoes, lettuces, broad beans,
cauliflowers, and cabbages, were set forth to tempt customers.
"There are the most delicious-looking pears," said Belle, peeping
through the small square panes of the window, "and so cheap. I shall go
in and get some."
"Yes, love, six for a penny," said the woman, a motherly-looking soul,
as Belle entered the shop and inquired the price. "They're fine and ripe
now, and won't do you no harm. A pen'orth, did you say?" And picking out
six of the best pears, she put them into a paper bag and handed them to
Belle, who, turning to leave the shop, laid down on the counter the coin
which she had placed that afternoon on the railway line.
The woman did not look at it particularly, but naturally supposing from
the size that it was a penny, she swept it carelessly into the till.
"Belle! Belle!" whispered Isobel, catching her friend hastily by the arm
as she went out through the door, "do you know what you've done? You
paid her your big halfpenny instead of a penny."
"Oh, did I?" said Belle, flushing. "I didn't notice. I never looked at
it."
"What a good thing I saw the mistake! Give her a proper penny, and get
the halfpenny back."
Belle fumbled in her pocket in vain.
"I don't believe I have another penny, after all," she said at last. "I
thought I had several. I must have lost them while we were up on the
cliffs, I suppose."
"What _are_ we to do?" exclaimed Isobel anxiously. "We can't take the
pears when we haven't paid for them properly; it would be stealing."
"I'll bring her another halfpenny to-morrow," suggested Belle.
"But suppose before that she looks at the money and finds out; she'll
think we have been trying to cheat her."
"Perhaps she won't remember who gave it to her."
"Oh! but that wouldn't make it any better," said Isobel. "Look here; let
us take back the bag, and tell her we paid the wrong money, and ask her
to give us only half the pears."
"Very well," answered Belle. "You go in, will you? I don't like to."
Isobel seized the parcel, and quickly re-entered the shop.
"I'm ever so sorry," she said breathlessly, "but we find we've made such
a dreadful mistake. We meant to give you a penny, and it wasn't a penny
at all--only a halfpenny squashed out flat on the railway line; so,
please, will you take back half the pears, because we neither of us have
a proper penny in our pockets."
The woman laughed.
"I didn't think to notice what you give me," she said. "But you're an
honest little girl to come and tell me. No, I won't take back none of
the pears. You're welcome to them, I'm sure."
"It was very nice of her," said Belle sweetly, peeling the juicy fruit
slowly with her penknife as they turned away down the street. "So stupid
of me to make such a mistake! Have another, darling; they're quite
delicious, though they are so small."
Isobel walked along rather silent and preoccupied. Though she would not
allow it to herself, down at the bottom of her heart there was the
uncomfortable suspicion that Belle had known all the time, and had meant
to give the wrong coin.
"She _couldn't_!" thought Isobel. "She _must_ have made a mistake, and
thought she really had a penny in her pocket. Yet at the level crossing
she certainly said the halfpenny was all she had until she got her
weekly money to-morrow. Perhaps she forgot. Oh dear! I know she didn't
mean to cheat or tell stories--I'm sure she wouldn't for the world--but
somehow I _wish_ it hadn't happened."