Dr. Tremayne disappeared into his surgery, and Mavis and Merle, after a few directions as to their route from Mrs. Penruddock, turned down the street that led towards the sea. Chagmouth was nothing more than a village, though its natives liked to call it a town. To enter it was like exploring a new world. The road to Chagmouth was happily too steep and narrow for charabancs, so that, even in summer, trippers, with their terrible train of sandwich-papers and cigarette-ends, had not yet discovered it and defiled its beauty. It was the most picturesque jumble of fishermen's cottages that could possibly be imagined; its narrow alleys, its archways, its flights of steps, its green half-doorways, its tiny windows and chimneys set at every quaint angle, its cobble stones and deep gutters, seemed a survival from old days of wrecking and smuggling, and transported one's charmed imagination back to the eighteenth century. Every corner was an artist's subject, the roofs were yellow with lichen, and many of them were covered with masses of ferns; fishing-nets hung out to dry over palings, and clumps of valerian and stocks and snapdragon grew in the crevices of the walls. Sea-gulls were everywhere, as tame as chickens. They sat in rows on the roof ridges, they perched on the chimneys, and flapped down into the streets to catch the bread the children threw for them, they swam with the ducks in the wide pool where the stream emptied itself into the harbour, and circled with loud cries round the jetty and the arcade where the fish was packed. Nobody in Chagmouth ever molested the gulls; they were the mascots of the village, and, according to all traditions handed down from time immemorial, to injure one of them would be to court instant bad luck and risk at sea. Even the naughtiest boys did not throw stones at them, and they were indeed considered almost as sacred as are the storks in some countries.
Mavis and Merle, much thrilled with their surroundings, plunged down the narrow little street and along flights of steps and under a deep archway, till they found themselves by the harbour, where red-sailed fishing-boats were at anchor, and blue-jerseyed, bronze-faced men were sitting on casks or on coils of rope, smoking, and talking about prospects of future catches. It was such a picturesque sight that Mavis wanted to linger, but Merle, who could catch a glimpse of the spray beyond the breakwater, pulled her on towards the sea. So they climbed one flight of steps, and went down another on the far side of the jetty, finding themselves on a strip of sand and shingle with high rocks and a headland behind, and the stretch of green open channel in front.
The midday February sunshine made gleaming, dancing lights on the water. Each wave as it rolled in showed a transparent window of amber, then fell in foaming white on the beach, carrying back with it a mass of grinding pebbles. The south wind was fresh, but not at all cold. Mavis drank in great gasping breaths of it, as if it were something for which she had craved and pined. A fortnight of Devon had already brought a pink tinge to her cheeks, and the sea air to-day was turning them rosy. The girls walked about on the shore, picking up shells, examining the great tangled pieces of seaweed, and peeping into the pools among the rocks. They would have liked to go round the point, but Mavis's wristwatch warned her that time was galloping, and that if they meant to climb back up the hill to Grimbal's Farm they must turn at once and hurry their steps; so, very reluctantly, they said a temporary good-bye to the beach, promising themselves many further visits there on future Saturdays, and each taking a cockleshell to carry in her pocket as a charm to lure her again to the domain of the sea-nymphs.
CHAPTER V
Fair Maids of February
Mavis and Merle had lunch with Uncle David in the parlour at Grimbal's Farm. It was a quaint, old-fashioned house-place, with a horsehair sofa, a cabinet full of best china, some enlarged family photographs in gilt frames, a very ancient piano, and a round table. It had the faint, musty, shut-up scent that clings to a room which is used only once a week, but a blazing fire of logs, and a bunch of snowdrops on the table, helped to give it a more occupied air. To the girls it was all part of their delightful new experience at Chagmouth. Everything was different from home, and therefore interesting, and when Mrs. Penruddock brought in a bowl of Devonshire cream with the roasted apples they felt they were indeed in a land of plenty. When the meal was over, Dr. Tremayne retired into his dispensary to make up medicines, telling the girls to wait about for him and not go too far away, as he would soon be starting on his round, and would take them in the car.
Of course they did not want to stay in the house, so, accepting Mrs. Penruddock's invitation "Go just wherever you like", they started to explore the farm premises. Clumps of snowdrops were growing among the grass in the orchard under old apple trees, some of whose branches held boughs of mistletoe. Bulbs were pushing up in the garden, and the daphne mezereon was out already in the warm corner near the bee-hives. Through the stackyard flowed the stream which was such a feature of Chagmouth, and here its glittering, tumbling waters had been harnessed to turn a waterwheel that worked a churn, a turnip-cutter, and other farm implements. The wheel at present was still, and the girls could go quite close and examine it. It was a picturesque affair, yellow with lichen and moss, and with green ferns growing on the wall against which the water dripped. It was so utterly different from the unlovely, whirling, modern machinery to which they were accustomed in Whinburn that they climbed down the steep, narrow steps to get a nearer view. Birds were flitting hither and thither like dainty water nixies, great sprays of periwinkle trailed down the banks, and the stream danced by with a gurgling murmur as if it were trying to put some story into words. Mavis, standing on the lowest of the steps, and leaning against a blade of the waterwheel, threw sticks on to its bosom and watched them as they bobbed along on their way towards the sea.
"Hello!" called a voice from above. "If you don't want to get knocked into the water you'd better come up. The wheel will be turning in another moment. We didn't know you were down there."
The girls made a hurried ascent of the steps, and came scrambling up into the stackyard. The stream might have its attractions, but they had no wish to try a February bath in it. At the top, by the door of the churning-shed, stood a boy of perhaps sixteen, a dark, good-looking boy, with clear brown eyes that sparkled and twinkled like the dancing water below. He held out a strong hand and helped them up the last of the awkward steps.
"Dr. Tremayne sent me to look for you," he volunteered, "and a hunt I've had. I thought you must have gone down the town. I wouldn't have found you, only I heard your voices. He's ready to start, and in two minds whether to set off without you or not."