A Maid of the Silver Sea

Nance Hamon
A girl and a boy lay in a cubby-hole in the north side of the cliff overlooking Port Gorey, and watched the goings-on down below.
The sun was tending towards Guernsey and the gulf was filled witn golden light. A small brig, unkempt and dirty, was nosing towards the rough wooden landing-stage clamped to the opposite rocks, as though doubtful of the advisability of attempting its closer acquaintance.
Mon Gyu, Bern, how I wish they were all at the bottom of the sea! said the girl vehemently.
Whe—e—e—w! whistled the boy, and then with a twinkle in his eye,— Who's got a new parasol now?
Everybody!—but it's not that. It's the bustle—and the dirt—and the noise—and oh—everything! You can't remember what it was like before these wretched mines came—no dust, no noise, no bustle, no dirty men, no silly women, no nothing as it is now. Just Sark as it used to be. And now—! Mon Gyu, yes I wish the sea would break in through their nasty tunnels and wash them all away—pumps and engines and houses—everything!
And up on the hillside at the head of the gulf the great pumping-engine clacked monotonously Never! Never! Never!
You've got it bad to-day, Nan, said the boy.
I've always got it bad. It makes me sick. It has changed everything and everybody—everybody except mother and you, she added quickly. Get—get—get! Why we hardly used to know what money was, and now no one thinks of anything but getting all they can. It is sickening.
S—s—s—s—t! signalled the boy suddenly, at the sound of steps and voices on the cliff outside and close at hand.
Tom, muttered the boy.
And Peter Mauger, murmured the girl, and they both shrank lower into their hiding-place.