et up and leave
the cliff and the sandy hills behind it; and then for an hour or two
he walked feebly about searching for sweet roots, but finding none.
It would have gone hard with him then if he had not seen some low,
dark-looking bushes at a distance on the dry, yellow plain, and gone
to them. They looked like yew-bushes, and when he got to them he
found that they were thickly covered with small berries; on some
bushes they were purple-black, on others crimson, but all were ripe,
and many small birds were there feasting on them. The berries were
pleasant to the taste, and he feasted with the little birds on them
until his hunger was satisfied; and then, with his mouth and fingers
stained purple with the juice, he went to sleep in the shade of one
of the bushes. There, too, he spent the whole of that day and the
night, hearing the low murmur of the sea when waking, and when
morning came he was strong and happy once more, and, after filling
himself with the fruit, set off to the sea again.

Arrived at the cliff, he began walking along the edge, and in about
an hour's time came to the end of it, for there it sloped down to
the water, and before him, far as he could see, there was a wide,
shingled beach with low sand-hills behind it. With a shout of joy he
ran down to the margin, and the rest of that day he spent dabbling
in the water, gathering beautiful shells and seaweed and
strangely-painted pebbles into heaps, then going on and on again,
still picking up more beautiful riffraff on the margin, only to leave,
it all behind him at last. Never had he spent a happier day, and
when it came to an end he found a sheltered spot not far from the sea,
so that when he woke in the night he would still hear the deep, low
murmur of the waves on the beach.

Many happy days he spent in the same way, with no living thing to
keep him company, except the little white and grey sanderlings that
piped so shrill and clear as they flitted along the margin before him;
and the great sea-gulls that uttered hoarse, laughter-like cries as
they soared and hovered above his head. "Oh, happy birds!" exclaimed
Martin, clapping his hands, and shouting in answer to their cries.

Every day Martin grew more familiar with the sea, and loved it more,
and it was his companion and playmate. He was bolder than the little
restless sanderlings that ran and flitted before the advancing waves,
and so never got their pretty white and grey plumage wet: often he