IV
The boy stood on the rim of the saucer and looked down.
Dim green lowlands lay beneath him, spurs of the Downs thrusting out into them.
Beyond, the bay swept away saucer-wise, the sea white along its brown edge. From his feet a shoulder, dark with gorse, plunged seaward. Beneath the swell of it, a level plain ran away to the shore, heaving up there in a little hillock that stood out from the beach as a bump of green.
Off the hillock lay the privateer hove-to. Another boat hung at her stern. The boy recognised it at once. It was the lugger Kite.
Behind the hillock, upon the plain, stood a solitary cottage.
At that cottage, lonely in a sea of turf, the boy stared long and earnestly.
It was flying a flag out of the chimney.
And that flag—yes—no—yes—was the Union Jack.