A Girl And A Boy Lay In A Cubby-Hole In The North Side Of The Cliff
Overlooking Port Gorey, And Watched The Goings-On Down Below.
The Sun Was Tending Towards Guernsey And The Gulf Was Filled Witn Golden
Light. A Small Brig, Unkempt And Dirty, Was Nosing Towards The Rough
Wooden Landing-Stage Clamped To The Opposite Rocks, As Though Doubtful
Of The Advisability Of Attempting Its Closer Acquaintance.
"Mon Gyu, Bern, How I Wish They Were All At The Bottom Of The Sea!" Said
The Girl Vehemently.
"Whe--E--E--W!" Whistled The Boy, And Then With A Twinkle In His
Eye,--"Who's Got A New Parasol Now?"
"Everybody!--But It's Not That. It's The Bustle--And The Dirt--And The
Noise--And Oh--Everything! You Can't Remember What It Was Like Before
These Wretched Mines Came--No Dust, No Noise, No Bustle, No Dirty Men,
No Silly Women, No Nothing As It Is Now.