d," said Bernel, and they went along together.

"This always strikes me afresh, each time I see it, as one of the most
extraordinary places I've come across," said Gard, as they dipped down
towards the Coupee.

"Wait till we're coming home," said Bernel hopefully.

"Why?"

"You see those clouds over there? That's wind--sou'-west--you'll see
what it's like after church."

"Your gales are as extraordinary as all the rest--and your tides and
currents and sea-mists. I suppose one must be born here to understand
them. We have a fine coast in Cornwall, but I think you beat us."

"Of course. This is Sark."

"And does no one ever tumble over the Coupee in the dark?"

"N--o, not often, any way. Nance once saw a man blown over."

"That was a bad thing to see," said Gard, turning towards her. "How was
it?"

"I was coming from school--"

"All alone?"

"Yes, all alone. The others had gone on; I'd been kept in, and it was
nearly dark. It was blowing hard, and when I got to the first rock here
I thought it was going to blow me over. So I went down on my hands and
knees and was just going to crawl, when old Hirzel Mollet came down the
other side with a great sheaf of wheat on his back. He was taking it to
the Seigneur for his tithes. And then in a moment he gave a shout and I
saw he was gone."

"That was terrible. What did you do?"

"I screamed and crawled back across the narrow bit to the cutting, and
ran screaming up to the cottages at Plaisance, and Thomas Carre and his
men came running down. But they could do nothing. They went round in a
boat from the Creux, but he was dead."

"And how did you get home?"

"Thomas Carre took me across and I ran on alone, but it was months
before I could forget poor old Hirzel Mollet."

"I should think so, indeed. That was a terrible thing to see."

The opening of the mines, and the influx of the Welsh and Cornishmen and
their wives and children, with their new and up-to-date ideas of living
and dressing, had wrought a great and not altogether wholesome change
upon the original inhabitants.

All the week they were hard at work in their fields or their boats, but
on Sunday the lonely lanes leading to Little Sark were thronged with
sightseers, curious to inspect the mines and the latest odd fashions
among the miners' wives and daughters.

Odd, and extremely useless little parasols, were then the vogue in
England. The miners' women-folk flaunted these before the dazzled eyes