A few minutes later Mick and Fly and Patsy came into the drawing-room, and asked Aunt Charlotte if she would like to go for a walk; they were going down to the sea, they said. Aunt Charlotte said she would be delighted to go. She put on her hat and gloves, and they started. On each side of the road was a wall of loose stones bound together by moss and brambles. In the distance, to their right, rose the mountains, and a turn of the road about a mile from home brought them in sight of the sea. They passed through the village, a long road of whitewashed cottages, with here and there a fuchsia bush by a door, a line of bright nasturtiums under a window, or a potato patch dotted with curly kale by the side of a house. Farther down the street the church stood back from the road in a graveyard full of tombstones and weeds. Aunt Charlotte said she was interested in churches, so they stopped to look at it. Coming back through the graveyard Mick showed her the tombstones of the rebels, with skull and crossbones on the top, and the grave of a great-uncle of theirs, who had been hanged at the time of the rebellion for deserting his friends.
"Serve him right, the ould traitor," said Patsy.
Aunt Charlotte was shocked. "If he was your great-uncle you should think of him with respect," she said.
"An' him an informer!" said Mick; "'deed, I'd 'a' kilt him myself, so I would. Andy Graham sez he'd 'a' japped the brains out a' him."
"Lull sez she'd 'a' napped him on the head with a wee blackthorn," said Fly. "But whist," she added, "I do believe the ould ruffian's lyin' in his grave listenin' to us."
Aunt Charlotte shivered. As they were going down the steps Patsy stopped. "Look at them two ould rats," he said, "sittin' there on the wall like ould men. They're just sayin' which of us all will be brought here the first."
Aunt Charlotte gave a little scream, and ran out into the road. "You children have such morbid minds," she said; "indeed," with a little laugh, "you have made me quite nervous."
About five minutes' walk from the village they came to a lane that ran down to the sea, black mud underfoot and stone walls on each side. The lane widened into a small farmyard. There was a low cottage, a stack of peat, and two or three hens picking about in the mud.
"What a squalid scene!" said Aunt Charlotte. "Is it possible that any human being can live here?"
The children did not answer, for, to their disappointment, the door was shut. "She's out!" Mick said.