"It will make about as notable a defence as half a dozen able-bodied pioneers might throw up in an hour with their spades. But we are too like the Beggars who built it to be very nice in our choosing," said Scarlett, smiling grimly down upon his two companions from the decaying rampart.
Walter scrambled up beside him, and the Little Marie, lithe as a cat, was over the crumbling wall as soon as any of them. They found the place wholly empty, save that in one corner there was a rudely vaulted herdsman's shelter, wherein, by moving a door of driftwood, they could see sundry shovels and other instruments of rustic toil set in the angle of the wall.
"I see not much chance of holding out here," said Wat. "They can storm the wall at half a dozen points."
"True," said Scarlett, "most true—yet for all that, here at least we cannot be shot at from a distance as we sit helpless on the sand, like rabbits that come hotching out of a wood at even-tide to feed on the green. We are not overlooked. We have a spring of water—which is not an over-common thing on these dunes and so near the sea. I tell you the Beggars knew what they were about when they planted their watch-tower down in such a spot."
In this manner Scarlett, the grumbler of the night, heartened his companions as soon as ever it came nigh the grips of fighting.
Then the men took out the shovels and the other tools, and set about putting the defences in some order, replacing the stones which had fallen down, and clearing out little embrasures, where one might lie tentily with a musket and take aim from shelter. While Wat and Scarlett were busy with these works of fortification, the Little Marie ran down into the dells again, looking wonderously feat and dainty in her boy's costume.
Scarlett, the old soldier, glanced more than once approvingly after her.
"'Tis just as well that the lady-love has not yet been found—or I should not envy you the explanation you would assuredly be called upon to make," said he, smiling over to Wat as he built and strengthened his defences.
Instinctively Wat squared himself, as though his mattock had been a sword and he saluting his general.
"Ye ken me little, John Scarlett," he replied, "if you know not that I would not touch the lass for harm with so much as the tip of my little finger."