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