"I never enjoyed a holiday so much in my life before," Edgar declared. "I'd much rather stay at a village than at a larger place. Last year we went to Bournemouth, and I had a dreadfully slow time. I say, what an old chap Jabez Triggs is, isn't he?"
"Yes, but I like him," Roger answered, "he tells such exciting stories. What do you think he told me yesterday? Why, that not very many years ago there were acres of land between the village and the sea, and now you know the houses are close to the beach."
"How's that?" questioned Polly.
"Because the sea is gradually sucking away the land," her brother explained.
"Some people believe there are villages buried beneath the sea, and the fisher folk say they can sometimes hear the bells ringing in church towers—"
"Under the sea?" interposed Edgar unbelievingly.
"Yes, but perhaps that's not true, they may only fancy it," Roger admitted. "But Jabez says every storm takes away a bit of the land, that's quite certain. He remembers when he was a boy that a whole row of cottages was washed away one night; he pointed out to me the spot where they used to stand, and even when it's low tide it's covered with deep water now."
Polly gave a little shudder, and listened in silence whilst her companions continued their conversation. She was glad there had been no storm during their sojourn at the Mill House, for the thought of the encroaching sea was somewhat alarming to her mind.
"I think it's about time we went home," she observed at length, as she put on her hat and rose to her feet. "The tide seems to be coming in very fast now, so we ought to be going, for I know one can only get to this cove at low water."
"Polly is nervous," said Roger teasingly. "All right, we'll come; but there's no need to hurry."