AUGUST IN NORTH DEVON 205 



musk. Barring the view to seaward is a belt 

 of sand-dunes. Beyond them a beach of per- 

 fect yellow sand, smooth and hard ; here and 

 there a ridge of rocks with fascinating little 

 pools, and beyond the sands a thundering line 

 of surf, remnant of a recent gale. Prospects of 

 a whole month on those sands, shoeless and 

 stockingless, amongst the little companies of 

 rejoicing youngsters if only this evening's 

 sunshine lasts ! 



It does not. Day after day, night after 

 night, the wind blows and the rain beats 

 against rattling windows. Mackintoshes, window- 

 wedges and bottles of cough-mixture, produced 

 from the depths of trunks by wise Nannies with 

 foresight, are the most useful contents of the 

 luggage. Everything out-o'-doors looks grey, 

 except the red puddles in the lane. There is 

 nothing for it but to make the best of indoors, 

 with an occasional sally in mackintoshes along 

 muddy lanes between hedges of dripping honey- 

 suckle to buy pottery in a neighbouring village 

 or Devonshire cream from a farmer's wife, 

 a friend of old. Then homewards through the 

 mud, the glow of dry clothing, and a jammy 

 and creamy tea. A whole fortnight of storms 

 and gales, with interludes of driving rain and 

 wet sea mists. Two precious weeks out of a 



