'What a lovely day!' said Eileen, as she sat by her little brother's side, whilst John, the old boatman, rowed them across the bay. The rarest shells were only to be found at the Point, and both children were eager collectors.
'It seems always smooth water in this bay,' said Maurice—'so different from where we went last year in Cornwall. There the great, big waves seemed always dashing against the shore.'
'You wait a bit, Master Maurice!' said old John. 'You have only been here a week or two, and it has been fine weather all the time; but when a storm gets up, I will answer for it you would not know the place. There are no fiercer waves round England than those that beat against the cliffs yonder at times'—and the old man waved his hand at the cliffs just behind him.
'I should like to see a storm here,' said Maurice, as he clasped his hands round his knees and stared thoughtfully before him.
'Don't say that, sir,' answered John. 'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast; some poor vessel is sure to be dashed against the cruel cliffs in a storm, and then there are orphans and widows to mourn her loss.'
'Did you ever see a shipwreck?' asked Eileen.
'Many a one, Missy,' was the old man's quiet answer.
'But I mean, were you ever in a shipwreck?' pursued Eileen.
'I was, once,' said John, slowly.
'Oh, tell us about it, please!' begged Maurice.