gly, but somewhat awed.

"It seems dreadfully wild and lonely," she said, with a shiver.
"And how flat and ugly it is, all but these tors. I wonder how they
came to be here like this. I should think the people who used to live
here must have piled up all these rocks to clear them out of the fields.
They left a good many behind, though."

"No one could have lifted rocks like these, and piled them up like
this," said Dan scornfully. "They were thrown up like this by an
earthquake, father says, and after the earthquake the sea--you know the
sea used to cover all the country as far as we can see--"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Anna. "Now you are trying to take me in; but
you won't make me believe such nonsense as that."

"Very well," crossly, "don't believe it then; only don't ask questions
another time if you mean to turn round and sneer when a fellow tries to
explain. I suppose you won't believe either that giants used to live
here?"

Anna laughed even more scornfully. "No, I will not," she said loftily.
"I am not quite stupid enough to believe all the nonsense you would like
to make me."

"If you could only realize it, it is you who are talking nonsense," said
Dan crushingly, and he turned away from her. He was not going to tell
any of his beloved legends and stories for Anna to sneer at. "It is
simply a sign of ignorance," he said, with his most superior air, "not
to believe in things because we haven't actually seen them with our very
own eyes. I suppose you will not believe that St. Michael's Mount used
to be surrounded with woods where there is sea now, until a huge wave
rushed in and swamped everything, right up to the foot of the Mount, and
never went back again?"

"No," said Anna obstinately, "of course I shouldn't believe it.
Such things couldn't happen. It is silly to tell such stories as you
Cornish people do, and expect other people to believe them."

Kitty looked at her in pained surprise. It seemed to her that Anna's
way of speaking was quite irreverent. She longed to know, yet shrank
from asking her, if she scorned, too, those other stories, so precious
and real to Kitty, the story of King Arthur in his hidden resting-place,
waiting to be roused from his long sleep; of Tristram and Iseult asleep
in the little chapel beneath the sea; of--oh, a hundred others of giants
and fairies, witches and spectres. But she held her peace rather than
hear them scoffed at and discredited.

The sunshine,