There was no path of any sort leading
from the gate in the light paling to the door; all was a thick carpet of
grass, covering the unlevelled ground. The grass was waving madly in the
wind, which coursed freely over undulating fields that here displayed no
shrubs or trees of any sort. Caius wondered if the wind always blew on
these islands; it was blowing now with the same zest as the day before;
the sun poured down with brilliancy upon everything, and the sea, seen
in glimpses, was blue and tempestuous. Truly, it seemed a land which the
sun and the moon and the wind had elected to bless with lavish
self-giving.
When Caius opened the gate of the whitewashed paling, the girl who was
to be his guide came round from the back of the house after him, and on
her track came a sudden rush of all the other children, who, with curls
and garments flying in the wind and delightful bursts of sudden
laughter, came to stand in a row again with their tongues outstretched
at Caius' retreating form.
The girl could only talk French, and she talked very little of that,
giving him "yes" or "no" demurely, as they went up the road which ran
inland through the island hills, keeping about midway between sea and
sea. Caius saw that the houses and small farms on either side resembled
those which he had seen on the other island. Small and rough many of
them were; but their whitewashed walls, the strong sunshine, and the
large space of grass or pine shrubs that was about each, gave them an
appearance of cleanliness.
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