The sun was tending towards Guernsey and the gulf was filled witn golden
light. A small brig, unkempt and dirty, was nosing towards the rough
wooden landing-stage clamped to the opposite rocks, as though doubtful
of the advisability of attempting its closer acquaintance.
"Mon Gyu, Bern, how I wish they were all at the bottom of the sea!" said
the girl vehemently.
"Whe--e--e--w!" whistled the boy, and then with a twinkle in his
eye,--"Who's got a new parasol now?"
"Everybody!--but it's not that. It's the bustle--and the dirt--and the
noise--and oh--everything! You can't remember what it was like before
these wretched mines came--no dust, no noise, no bustle, no dirty men,
no silly women, no nothing as it is now. Just Sark as it used to be. And
now--! Mon Gyu, yes I wish the sea would break in through their nasty
tunnels and wash them all away--pumps and engines and houses--everything!"
And up on the hillside at the head of the gulf the great pumping-engine
clacked monotonously "Never! Never! Never!"
"You've got it bad to-day, Nan," said the boy.
"I've always got it bad.
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