“Now look here,” said Dick. “I know that we London chaps are all behind you country fellows over sea-side things—catching fish, and boating, and about winds and tides; but I do know better than you here. The edge of a cliff like this must be the place where the wind blows hardest.”
“But you feel for yourself that it doesn’t,” said Will laughing.
“Not just now,” cried Dick, “but it will directly.”
“No, it will not.”
“But look at the foam flying and the spray going like a storm of rain.”
“Yes,” said Will, “but not at the edge of the cliff. Look at the grass and wild flowers; they grow longer and better here too. The wind off the sea never blows very hard here.”
“Oh, what stuff!” cried Dick; “you’re as obstinate as old Taff. It will blow here directly.”
“Come along,” said Will quietly; and he walked a short distance inland, taking his companion into the full force of the gale once more.
“There!” cried Dick. “I told you so. It has come on to blow again. Let’s get back to the edge.”
Will made no objection, but walked back quickly with Dick; but before they reached the cliff edge it was nearly calm once more.