33 2 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
“CLUSTERING AND CHATTERING THEY TRIPPED ALONG TO FAIR MAIDS 5 COVE. 5 ’ 
Milly) ; of high young laughs ; of giggles, of 
squeals, of hugs, of kisses — of everything in 
the nature of stir and flashing and squealing 
that may be imagined when some twenty 
darlings are met for a birthday picnic on an 
August afternoon. 
II. 
And now the picnickers were ready to start. 
The last present had been unpacked, the last 
guest had arrived, the stout pug pup — Yvonne 
cle Ponthiere’s gift — had to repletion gorged 
itself with milk, with chocolates, with sweet 
biscuits, and with fingers of sponge-cake. 
“ Through the cliff gate ! ” cried Miss Milly, 
packing the bulging pup — Bobo the silly 
things had named it — beneath her arm. 
1 ‘ 'through the cliff gate ! Y ou boys may carry 
that hamper ; it has the kettle and the cups 
and plates. Oh, by the handles, for good- 
ness’ sake, not by the rope, and do be careful ! 
Margi, you bring that little box, dear — that’s 
fruit. And Eflie and Dora — yes, that one; 
how nice of you ! Gertie, darling, bring .the 
little brown basket, will you ? Oh, I love 
that pencil-box you gave me ! Netty, you’ve 
got the chocolates — I’ll just take one tiny 
one for sweet little Bobo. There ! That’s 
everything ! Now ! ” 
Now 7 ! It was the most exquisite sight. 
Through the cliff gate they streamed, and 
down, down the steep cliff path in a long, 
brilliantly-hued chain — slipping and tripping, 
and jumping and clutching, and chattering 
and squeaking ; with “ Oo-oo-oo’s ! ” w hen 
they slipped, and with giggles when they 
clutched ; and with trilling little “ Ha-ha- I, 
ha’s ! ” when others slipped, and with 
feminine little squeaks of “ Oh, mercy ! ” 
wdien others clutched. Then the firm red 
sand was reached and, like gay glass beads 
poured higgledy-piggledy from a bottle, with 
squeals and laughs and flappings and flutter- 
ings, they streamed upon it; with dancing 
and twining and clustering and chattering 
tripped along to Fair Maid’s Cove. 
And behind them — dull, drab, morose, | 
silent, weighted with an immense hamper — 
laboured the two beasts. The tossing cluster 
of missies was five hundred yards along the 
sand ere, stolid, a trifle warm, they emerged 
from the foot of the cliff. 
“ Change hands, shall we ? ” says Valentine 
Saxon England — the first words that had 
passed between them. 
They set down the basket. As they crossed 
Valentine took up a stone, ran a step or two, 
and hurled it towards the sea. 
Hugh marked it as it fell — short of the waves 
by half-a-dozen yards. A gruntish sound he 
gave that might have meant nothing or might 
