THEBROOK 17 



the rains had washed the walls down, and they were 

 mostly filled. In some I could see a gap where the 

 door had been. Here and there were bits of flint, 

 old broken knives, and tools ; on one floor there was 

 a litter of shells, the relics of some long-forgotten 

 feast. Fragments of rotten driftwood were bedded 

 in the walls, marking the place where old rafters had 

 held the heavy roofs of turf. I could picture the 

 mounds as homes. It was a long-deserted village. 



I turned and followed John again ; our backs were 

 to the crumbling village, and our faces set for home, 

 but in my mind there was a picture. 



