Brownsmiths Boy - A Romance in a Garden - Page 194/241

"Yon's the sand-hill," he said, pointing with his whip as he drew up at

a little inn. "We'll order some braxfass here; then while they're

briling the bacon we'll take the cart up to the pit and leave it, and

bring the horse back to stop in the stable till we want him again."

The order was given, and then we had a slow climb up a long hill to

where, right at the top, the road had been cut straight through, leaving

an embankment, forty or fifty feet high, on each side, while, for

generations past, the sand had been dug away till the embankments were

some distance back from the road.

"Just like being on the sea-shore," said Ike. "I see the ocean once.

Linkyshire cost. All sand like this. Rum place, ain't it?"

"I think it's beautiful," I said as the cart was drawn over the yielding

sand, the horse's hoofs and the wheels sinking in deep, while quite a

cliff, crowned with dark fir-trees, towered above our heads. The face

of the sandy cliff was scored with furrows where the water had run down,

and here it was reddish, there yellow or cream colour, and then

dazzlingly white, while just below the top it was honey-combed with

holes.

"San'-martins' nesties," said Ike, pointing with his whip. "There's

clouds of 'em sometimes. There they go."

He pointed to the pretty white-breasted birds as they darted here and

there, and on we still went, jolting up and down in the sandy bottom,

where there was only a faint track, till we were opposite to a series of

cavern-like holes and the sand cliff towered up with pine-trees here and

there half-way down where the sand had given way or been undermined, and

they had glided down a quarter--half--three parts of the distance. In

short, it was a lovely, romantic spot, with a view over the pleasant

land of Surrey on our right, and on our left a cliff of beautiful

salmon-coloured sand, side by side with one that was quite white.

"You won't get better sand than that nowheres," said Ike, standing up

and getting out of the cart, an example I followed. "Here we'll pitch,

Mars Grant, and--"

Quickly and silently, as he gave me a comical look, he unhitched a chain

or two, unbuckled the belly-band, and let the shafts fly up.

The result was that Shock's head went bang against the tail-board, and

then his legs went over it, and he came out with a curious somersault,

and stared about only half awake, and covered with straw and sacks.

He jumped up angrily, and as soon as he saw that we were laughing at

him, turned his back, and kicked the sand at us like a pawing horse; but

Ike gave the whip a flick at him, and told him to put the sacks in the

cart.