“Do you like my dog?” he asked, with another effort at light conversation.
“No,” she answered, with a little shiver. “He's ugly.”
“He isn't ugly,” Jeremy returned indignantly. “He isn't perhaps the very best breed, but Uncle Samuel says that that doesn't matter if he's clever. He's better than any other dog. I love him more than anybody. He isn't ugly!”
“He is,” cried Charlotte with a kind of wail. “Oh! I want to go home.”
“Well, you can't go home,” he answered her fiercely. “So you needn't think about it.”
They came to the little pools, three of them, now clear as crystal, blue on their surface, with green depths and red shelving rock.
“Now you sit there,” he said cheerfully. “No one will touch you. The crabs won't get at you.”
He looked about him and noticed with surprise where he was. He was sitting on the farther corner of the very beach where the Scarlet Admiral had landed with his men. It was out there beyond that bend of rock that the wonderful ship had rode, with its gold and silk, its jewelled masts and its glittering board. Directly opposite to him was the little green path that led up the hill, and above it the very field—Farmer Ede's field!
For a long, long time they sat there in silence. He forgot Charlotte in his interest over his discovery, staring about him and watching how quickly the August afternoon was losing its heat and colour, so that already a little cold autumnal wind was playing about the sand, the colours were being drawn from the sky, and a grey web was slowly pulled across the sea.
“Now,” he said cheerfully at last, to Charlotte, “I'll look for the crabs.”