amble about too
much, that's all--those cliffs are dangerous, remember!"

"We'll go as cautiously as two pussy-cats," said Gwen.

"Hardly an apt simile!" laughed Mr. Gascoyne, pointing to Pluto, the
black Persian, that was careering madly up a tree at the moment.
"However, you're used to Skelwick rocks, and Dick will have to learn
his footing. Only please don't learn it at the expense of your neck,
Dick! We haven't gone far enough with the Latin prose yet!"

"You needn't be afraid for me, sir, though I came a cropper over old
Cicero this morning," laughed Dick.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in early November; one of those late
autumn days when a little crisp hoar frost lingers in the hollows, but
in the full sunshine it is almost as warm as summer. Gwen fetched a
favourite stick, her indispensable companion on the moors, and,
discarding her jacket, set forth joyously for a five-mile tramp. She
loved the great bare headland that rose behind the Parsonage; there
was a sense of freedom in leaving the houses of the village, and
seeing only sea and sky around, and feeling the short, fine grass
under her feet. It was a stiff climb to the top of the plateau, but
once up there was a tolerably flat walk of about a couple of miles to
the jagged rocks that formed the end of the promontory.

"Isn't it glorious?" said Gwen, when, the scrambling part finished,
they sat for a moment or two on a rock to take breath. Below lay the
clear, grey, even, shimmering surface of the sea, a little hazy at the
horizon, and changing to deepest green as it neared the cliffs, where
the sea-birds wheeled round screaming in sheer joy of life. "Don't you
feel as if you could take a jump from the edge and just go sailing
down like a gull, and land gently on the water, and float off?"

"Better not try the experiment unless you provide yourself with a
parachute! An aeroplane could make a good start up here. Do you ever
get any guillemots' eggs? Or puffins'?"

"Not often; though sometimes the lighthouse men bring us a few. Are
you collecting eggs?"

"Rather! I've got nearly five hundred. I could do with a razor-bill's
or a puffin's."

"You'll have to wait till next summer. June and July are the best
months. I can show you where the birds sit, though. They haven't
proper nests, they just squat on the rocks, packed as close together
as sardines. It's wonderful to see them. And the noise they make! No,
it isn't here, it's over by the chasms; we sh