The sea itself rose and fell in a long, heavy, oily roll, sweeping
slowly landward, and breaking sullenly with a dull, monotonous
booming upon the rock-girt shore. To the inexperienced all seemed calm
and peaceful, but to those who are accustomed to read Nature's warnings
there was a dark menace in air and sky and sea.
My sister and I walked out in the afternoon, sauntering slowly along the
margin of the great, sandy spit which shoots out into the Irish Sea,
flanking upon one side the magnificent Bay of Luce, and on the other the
more obscure inlet of Kirkmaiden, on the shores of which the Branksome
property is situated.
It was too sultry to go far, so we soon seated ourselves upon one of the
sandy hillocks, overgrown with faded grass-tufts, which extend along the
coast-line, and which form Nature's dykes against the encroachments of
the ocean.
Our rest was soon interrupted by the scrunching of heavy boots upon the
shingle, and Jamieson, the old man-o'-war's man whom I have already had
occasion to mention, made his appearance, with the flat, circular
net upon his back which he used for shrimp-catching. He came towards us
upon seeing us, and said in his rough, kindly way that he hoped we would
not take it amiss if he sent us up a dish of shrimps for our tea at
Branksome.
"I aye make a good catch before a storm," he remarked.
"You think there is going to be a storm, then?" I asked.
"Why, even a marine could see that," he answered, sticking a great wedge
of tobacco into his cheek.
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