as not allowed to sit
thinking about the beauty of the place, for Ike began to tell me of the
plan of our campaign.

"Yon's the sand-hill," he said, pointing with his whip as he drew up at
a little inn. "We'll order some braxfass here; then while they're
briling the bacon we'll take the cart up to the pit and leave it, and
bring the horse back to stop in the stable till we want him again."

The order was given, and then we had a slow climb up a long hill to
where, right at the top, the road had been cut straight through, leaving
an embankment, forty or fifty feet high, on each side, while, for
generations past, the sand had been dug away till the embankments were
some distance back from the road.

"Just like being on the sea-shore," said Ike. "I see the ocean once.
Linkyshire cost. All sand like this. Rum place, ain't it?"

"I think it's beautiful," I said as the cart was drawn over the yielding
sand, the horse's hoofs and the wheels sinking in deep, while quite a
cliff, crowned with dark fir-trees, towered above our heads. The face
of the sandy cliff was scored with furrows where the water had run down,
and here it was reddish, there yellow or cream colour, and then
dazzlingly white, while just below the top it was honey-combed with
holes.

"San'-martins' nesties," said Ike, pointing with his whip. "There's
clouds of 'em sometimes. There they go."

He pointed to the pretty white-breasted birds as they darted here and
there, and on we still went, jolting up and down in the sandy bottom,
where there was only a faint track, till we were opposite to a series of
cavern-like holes and the sand cliff towered up with pine-trees here and
there half-way down where the sand had given way or been undermined, and
they had glided down a quarter--half--three parts of the distance. In
short, it was a lovely, romantic spot, with a view over the pleasant
land of Surrey on our right, and on our left a cliff of beautiful
salmon-coloured sand, side by side with one that was quite white.

"You won't get better sand than that nowheres," said Ike, standing up
and getting out of the cart, an example I followed. "Here we'll pitch,
Mars Grant, and--"

Quickly and silently, as he gave me a comical look, he unhitched a chain
or two, unbuckled the belly-band, and let the shafts fly up.

The result was that Shock's head went bang against the tail-board, and
then his legs went over it, and he came out with a curious somersault,
an