The boy came to his side and listened. True, there was a muffled noise of rolling in the drain, and dull banging against the door. Well, they might bang till they were blue: they would make as much impression on that door as the breeze on Beachy Head.
The old man looked up and saw the lad beside him in shirt-sleeves.
"Hullo, sir! what's forrad then?"
"I'm going to take a little trot over to the shingle-bank to have a look round," said the boy, shivering. "I want you to stand by the door to let me out and in."
The old man rolled up his sleeves, snatched his cutlass from the corner, whetted it with the easy grace of a bird whetting its beak, and spat on his hands.
"Then it's stand by to repel boarders! Rithe away, sir, when you are."
The Parson peered down.
"All's quiet," he whispered. "Ready, Kit?"
"Yes, sir."
The boy stood up pale in the gloom.