the first."

Aunt Charlotte gave a little scream, and ran out into the road. "You
children have such morbid minds," she said; "indeed," with a little
laugh, "you have made me quite nervous."

About five minutes' walk from the village they came to a lane that ran
down to the sea, black mud underfoot and stone walls on each side. The
lane widened into a small farmyard. There was a low cottage, a stack
of peat, and two or three hens picking about in the mud.

"What a squalid scene!" said Aunt Charlotte. "Is it possible that any
human being can live here?"

The children did not answer, for, to their disappointment, the door was
shut. "She's out!" Mick said.

A few yards from the cottage the land ended on the seashore. The sand
was covered with brown seaweed; a cart filled with it was propped up on
stones. Bits of cork and wood were strewn about in every direction,
and beyond the line of dry seaweed there were big round stones covered
with golden brown seaweed, still wet, for the tide was only half-way
out.

Aunt Charlotte didn't like this sea very much. She said it was all so
untidy. Not even the beautiful green crabs that Fly caught under the
wet seaweed pleased her, so after a few minutes they turned back. The
children were afraid that Jane Dyer would not have come home yet, but
just as they passed the cottage Aunt Charlotte suddenly gripped hold of
Mick's arm.

"Who is that," she said sharply; "there, coming down the lane?" Fly
gave a hysterical giggle. Coming towards them down the lane was a tall
figure dressed in an old green ulster coat, tied in round the waist by
an apron; white hair fell about a flat white face, and big bare feet
splashed in the mud. As it came it muttered and frowned and shook its
fist.

"Who is it, I say?" said Aunt Charlotte.

"It's Jane Dyer," said Mick.

Patsy gave a loud 'Hee-haw,' that was supposed to remind Jane of her
dead donkey, and always made her wild with rage, even if the sight of
visitors in her lane had not already made her angry. She came swinging
along, muttering and cursing to herself, stopping here and there to
pick up a stone, till her apron was full. Then, with a sudden leap in
the air, she aimed. The stone hit Fly on the shin; she gave a yell of
pain, and was over the wall in a second. The boys followed, while a
volley of stones and curses came from the lane. Aunt Charlotte was
left behind. They heard her scrambling over the wall, the loose sto