"If you come a bit farther this way, sir, there's a capital view of the
house."
Pratt followed the man; and there, at about half a mile distance, on the
slope of a steep hill, was the rugged, granite-built seat--Penreife--
half ancient, half modern; full of buttresses, gables, awkward
chimney-stacks, and windows of all shapes, with the ivy clustering over
it greenly, and a general look of picturesque comfort that no
trimly-built piece of architecture could display. The house stood at
the end of one of the steep valleys running up from the sea, which shone
in the autumn sun about another half-mile farther, with grey cottages
clustering on the cliff, and a little granite-built harbour, sheltering
some half a dozen duck-shaped luggers and a couple of yachts.
"Ah," said Pratt, "that's pretty! Beats Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street
all to fits. Is that your master's yacht?"
"The big 'un is, sir--the _Sea Launce_," said Humphrey; "the little
'un's Mr Mervyn's--the _Swallow_."
"By the way, who is this Mr Mervyn?" said Trevor, who had sauntered up.
"Well, sir," said Humphrey, taking off his hat and rubbing his brown
curls, "I don't kinder know what he is. He's been in the navy, I think,
for he's a capital sailor; but he's quite the gentleman, and wonderful
kind to the poor people, and he lives in that little white house the
other side of the cliff."
"I can't see any white house," said Pratt.
"No, sir, you can't see it, 'cause it's the other side of the cliff; but
that's his flagstaff rigged up, as you can see, with the weathercock on
it, and--Here, hi! you, sir, come out of that! Here, Juno, lass, come
along."
"Has he gone mad?" cried Pratt.
For Humphrey had suddenly set off down a steep slope towards a meadow,
and went on shouting with all his might.
"No," said Trevor, shading his eyes, "there's a man--two men with
billhooks there--labourers, I should think. Come along, or perhaps
there'll be a quarrel; and I can't have that."
Volume 1, Chapter XI.