Before them the land rolled away, fold upon fold, the sea encircling it.
Big Jerry's coombe lay vast and vault-like beneath them on the right, certain dark specks in the centre of it.
They were not sheep, those specks: Kit knew what they were.
Over the shoulder of the coombe, a great flat bay, the sea white along the brown edge of it, swept away scimitar-wise into the mist.
The Gentleman stopped, his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Pevensey Bay! That is where the first Frenchman who ever conquered England landed. Hastings yonder! Battle Abbey over there!—my name on its Roll. Such a wonderful old Church!"
He stopped abruptly.
A ship, lying inshore beneath him, tiny on the plain of sea, had caught his eye.
He flashed round on the boy.
"What nationality?" fiercely, and with pointing finger.