Part 11 (1/2)

”Hand it to me.”

The child did not understand. ”Give me something--” she began again in her dull, level voice.

Honoria stamped her foot. ”Give it to me!” She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the doll and thrust it into the fis.h.i.+ng creel, tossed the coin into Lizzie's basket, and taking Comedy by the bridle, moved up the path.

”She've adopted en!” They laughed and called out to Lizzie that she was in luck's way. But Taffy saw the child's face as she stared into the empty basket, and that it was perplexed and forlorn.

”Why did you do that?” he asked, as he caught up with Honoria.

She did not answer.

And now they turned away from the sea, and struck a high road which took them between upland farms and across the ridge of cultivated land to a valley full of trees. A narrow path led inland up this valley. They had followed it under pale green shadows, in Indian file, the pony at Honoria's heels and Taffy behind, and stepped out into sunlight again upon a heathery moor where a trout stream chattered and sparkled. And there by a granite bridge they found George fis.h.i.+ng, with three small trout s.h.i.+ning on the turf beside him.

This was a day which Taffy remembered all his life, and yet most confusedly. Indeed there was little to remember it by--little to be told except that all the while the stream talked, the larks sang, and in the hollow of the hills three children were happy. George landed half a dozen trout before lunch-time; but Taffy caught none, partly because he knew nothing about fis.h.i.+ng, partly because the chatter of the stream set him telling tales to himself and he forgot the rod in his hand. And Honoria, after hooking a tiny fish and throwing it back into the water, wandered off in search of larks' nests.

She came slowly back when George blew a whistle announcing lunch.

”Hullo! What's this?” he asked, as he dived a hand into her creel.

”Ugh! a doll! I say, Taffy, let's float her down the river.

What humbug, Honoria!”

But she had s.n.a.t.c.hed the doll and crammed it back roughly into the creel. A minute later, when they were not looking, she lifted the lid again and disposed the poor thing more gently.

”Why don't you talk, one of you?” George demanded, with his mouth full.

Taffy shook himself out of his waking dream--”I was wondering where it goes to,” he said, and nodded toward the running water.

”It goes down to Langona,” said George, ”and that's just a creek full of sand, with a church right above it in a big gra.s.s meadow--the queerest small church you ever saw. But I've heard my father tell that hundreds of years back a big city stood there, with seven fine churches and quays, and deep water alongside and above, so that s.h.i.+ps could sail right up to the ford. They came from all parts of the world for tin and lead, and the people down in the city had nothing to do but sit still and grow rich.”

”Somebody must have worked,” interrupted Honoria; ”on the buildings and all that.”

”The building was done by convicts. The story is that convicts were transported here from all over the kingdom.”

”Did they live in the city?”

”No; they had a kind of camp across the creek. They dug out the harbour too, and kept it clear of sand. You can still see the marks of their pickaxes along the cliffs; I'll show them to you some day.

My father knows all about it, because his great-great-great-great-- grandfather (and a heap more 'greats,' I don't know how many) was the only one saved when the city was buried.”

”Was he from the city, or one of the convicts?” asked Honoria, who had not forgiven George's a.s.sault upon her doll.

”He was a baby at the time, and couldn't remember,” George answered, with fine composure. ”They say he was found high up the creek, just where you cross it by the foot-bridge. The bridge is covered at high water; and if you try to cross below, especially when the tide is flowing, just you look out! Twice a day the sands become quick there. They've swallowed scores. I'll tell you another thing: there's a bird builds somewhere in the cliffs there--a crake, the people call it--and they say that whenever he goes crying about the sands, it means that a man will be drowned there.”

”Rubbis.h.!.+ I don't believe in your city.”

”Very well, then, I'll tell you something else. The fishermen have seen it--five or six of them. You know the kind of haze that gets up sometimes on hot days, when the sun's drawing water? They say that if you're a mile or two out and this happens between you and Langona Creek, you can see the city quite plain above the sh.o.r.e, with the seven churches and all.”

”_I_ can see it!” Taffy blurted this out almost without knowing that he spoke; and blushed furiously when George laughed. ”I mean--I'm sure--” he began to explain.

”If you can see it,” said Honoria, ”you had better describe George's property for him.” She yawned. ”He can't tell the story himself-- not one little bit.”

”Right you are, miss,” George agreed. ”Fire away, Taffy.”

Taffy thought for a minute, then, still with a red face, began.