"Visitors, strangers like," explained the boy.
"I like that," said Roger, flushing indignantly.
"Hush, Roger," interposed his mother. "No offense was meant. What are these chains? They seem very old."
"They were used long time ago to hang criminals. They do say they put 'em there alive and left 'em to the corbies."
"Corbies? Oh, crows," interpreted Win. "Nice custom! Mother, look at the heaps of rocks exposed by the tide."
"There's more this side," said their guide, turning a corner of the rampart with Roger close at his heels. The rest were about to follow when suddenly Mrs. Thayne gave an exclamation.
"Listen!" she said. "That must be a skylark."
From somewhere in the blue above fell a rain of happy music, so liquid and so sweet that it scarcely seemed to come from any earthly bird.
"Where is it?" asked Frances excitedly, peering into the air and dropping on her knees the better to look up. Mrs. Thayne did the same and both stared into the sky, trying to detect the tiny spot of feathered joy, the source of all this melody. Presently Edith and Win joined them.
Back around the corner came Roger and the guide, both stopping short at sight of the rest of the party down on their knees on the daisy-starred turf.