It was indeed a harvest for those who liked to gather. Brambles grew everywhere. Long clinging sprays, some still in blossom and some covered with the ripe fruit, trailed in profusion over the rocks, their reddening leaves giving a hint of the coming autumn, for it was late August now, and already there was a touch of September crispness in the air. It was delightful on the headland, with sea and sky spread all around, the sea-gulls flapping idly below just on the verge of the waves, and banks of fragrant wild thyme under their feet, growing in patches between the great craggy boulders, which looked as though they had been piled up by some giant at play. The picking went on steadily for a while, though it was a little unequal, as Belle had a tender consideration for her spotless fingers, and gathered about one berry to Isobel's dozen.
"We shall soon have the basket full," said Isobel. "Hold it for a moment, Belle, please, while I get to the other side of this rock; there are some still finer ones over here."
"I should think we have enough now," said Belle, upon whom the occupation began to pall. "We don't want to make any more jam; the last we tried stuck to the pan and burnt, and wasted all the sugar I had brought. Mother says she won't let me have any more. Come back, Isobel, do, and take the basket. Why, what are you staring at so hard?"
"At this stone underneath the brambles," replied Isobel. "It's most peculiar. It has marks on it like letters, only they aren't any letters I know. Do come and look."
She pulled the long blackberry trails aside as she spoke, and disclosed to view a large stone, something like a gate-post, lying on its side, half sunk into the soil. It was worn, and weather-beaten, and battered by time and storms, but on its smooth surface could still be traced the remains of a rudely-carved cross, and the inscription,—
"What does it mean?" asked Belle. "Are they really letters?"
"I can't tell," replied Isobel. "It looks like some writing we can't read. Perhaps it's Greek, or old black letter. I wonder who could have put it here?"
"I don't know, and I'm sure I don't care," said Belle. "What does it matter? Let us come along."
"Oh! only it's interesting. I want to tell mother about it; she's so fond of old crosses, and she may know what it means. I can copy it on this scrap of paper if you'll wait a minute."