In a fury of repulsion he stooped to pick up a rock, but when he hurled
it the last tentacle was just sliding into the pool, and it seemed to
him that it waved an ironical farewell before it disappeared.
More than once fishing-boats hovered about his rock, but kept a safe
distance from the boiling underfalls, and he always lay in hiding till
they had gone.
But he saw more gracious and beautiful things than these.
As he lay one morning, looking over the ridge at the Sark headlands
shining in the sun--with a strong west wind driving the waves so briskly
that, Sark-like, they tossed their white crests into the air in angry
expostulation long before they met the rocks, and went roaring up them
in dazzling spouts of foam--his eye lighted on a gleam of unusual colour
on the racing green plain. It came again and again, and presently, as
the merry dance waxed wilder still, every white-cap as it tossed into
the air became a tiny rainbow, and the whole green plain was alive with
magical flutterings, of colours so dazzling that it seemed bestrewn with
dancing diamonds.
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