He started to walk
several miles to an inlet where at high tide the sea-trout came within
reach of the line. The country road was of red clay, and, turning from
the more thickly-settled district, Caius followed it through a wide wood
of budding trees and out where it skirted the top of low red cliffs,
against which the sea was lapping. Then his way led him across a farm.
So far he had been walking indolently, happy enough, but here the shadow
of the pain of the world fell upon him.
This farm was a lonesome place close to the sea; there was no appearance
of prosperity about it. Caius knew that the farmer, Day by name, was a
churl, and was said to keep his family on short rations of happiness. As
Caius turned off the public road he was not thinking specially of the
bleak appearance of the particular piece of farmland he was crossing, or
of the reputation of the family who lived upon the increase of its
acres; but his attention was soon drawn to three children swinging on a
gate which hung loosely in the log fence not far from the house. The
eldest was an awkward-looking girl about twelve years of age; the second
was a little boy; the youngest was a round-limbed, blond baby of two or
three summers. The three stood upon the lowest bar of the gate, clinging
to the upper spars. The eldest leaned her elbows on the top and looked
over; the baby embraced the middle bar and looked through.
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