“Oh, what a pity!” cried Dick, as he stood there panting and regaining his breath; “only to think of it turning so still now that we are here.”
“Turning so still!” said Will, laughing; “why, it’s blowing harder than ever. Look at the foam-balls.”
“Yes; it’s blowing there,” said Dick; “but it’s quite calm here. Never mind; I’ll wait. There’ll be a regular guster directly.”
“No,” said Will quietly; “you may stand here all day and you’ll hardly feel the wind.”
“But why’s that?” cried Dick.
“Because we are right at the edge of a tall flat-faced cliff,” said Will. “It’s generally so.”
“But I don’t understand it,” cried Dick. “It’s blowing very hard, and we are not in shelter. Why don’t it blow here?”
“Because we are right at the edge of the cliff.”
“Don’t talk stuff and nonsense, Will,” said Dick testily. “How can you be so absurd? Why, that’s where the wind would blow hardest.”
“No, it isn’t,” replied Will.