OUR HOLIDAY IN CORNWALL 77 



about butterflies, perhaps he meant one of the 

 fritillaries. Then he guided us across the fields 

 down to the Cove, a paradise for artists, where 

 several were at work. He pointed out with the 

 gravity of an old man all the different points of 

 interest, the names of the rocks, the faces or 

 figures represented by certain profiles, the large 

 caves, through which he insisted on dragging us ; 

 then he brought us to a place and began kicking 

 the limpets off the rocks. I struck off one with 

 my stick. " That's not the way to do it," says our 

 guide, "you've only got the shell, the limpet is 

 there still, you must smash 'em." "Why do you 

 do that?" I asked. "Ah, I'm going to show you 

 something. Look into this l well' ; now see how 

 the fish will come out." The well is a circular 

 crevice in the rocks, perhaps three yards in cir- 

 cumference, filled with perfectly clear fresh water. 

 He dropped a limpet into the water, and out rushed 

 a number of small fishes from four inches to six 

 inches in length. These he called mullies^ so let 

 that be their name. I never saw them or knew 

 their names before, so I have no right to question 

 the correctness of the nomenclature of this young 

 ten-year-old, practical, scientific philosopher ; they 

 were not unlike the miller's thumb. " You watch 

 how they'll fight till the big one comes out, then 

 he'll take it from them as cool as anything, and it's 

 against the law to touch them." 



The rocks one has to scramble over to get down 

 to the beautiful sand are all serpentine. 





