“Yes,” said Will, “but the waves will not curl round the corner. They can’t come here.”
He pointed to the rugged path, for it was hard work to speak and make each other hear; and Dick began nervously to climb back, looking down once or twice at the hungry waves, which seemed ready to leap up at him and tear him from the rocks.
“I say,” he cried, “I’m glad Taff isn’t here.”
Will smiled, for he felt that Arthur would never have ventured down the cliff.
“Now,” said Dick, as they reached the shelf path once more, and he felt less nervous, “I want to go up right to the top of the cliff and feel the wind.”
“Feel the wind?” cried Will.
“Yes; feel how strong it is. Which is the best way?”
“I’ll show you,” said Will smiling; and leading the way he walked a little back towards the town and then turned into a rift similar to that by which they had descended to the shore.
“This way,” he shouted, for the wind caught them here with tremendous force, and great balls of foam were whirled up over the face of the cliff and then away on the wings of the wind inland.
“What a difference!” cried Dick as soon as they had entered the rift: for there was a perfect lull here, and all seemed comparatively at peace.