As they neared Chagmouth the track they had followed led them down the side of the cliff to where some allotment gardens lay under the shelter of the headland. Many of these were neglected and uncultivated, but a few showed signs of recent digging. Bevis, pausing by a small wooden gate, pointed downwards. "That's ours," he explained, "and if you don't mind I want to fetch my knife. I believe I left it there yesterday when I was working. I won't be a minute if you can wait." "Oh, do let us come too, please!" urged the girls. So they all went down, scrambling along a kind of sheep track till they reached the level patch of rich soil below. The little plot of land was mostly devoted to vegetables, but it also held a few fruit-trees and some flowers. There was a fallen stump in its midst, which made a capital seat, and here the girls settled themselves to rest while Bevis looked for his knife. Snowdrops grew in profusion around them, lifting tall stalks and pure white heads above the herbage through which they had pushed. The late afternoon sun just touched the roofs of the little fishing-town below, though the beach lay in shadow. Up among the woods some glass windows gleamed like gold. "Is that The Warren, where we went with Uncle David?" asked Merle, as Bevis came back, pocketing his knife. "Whose place is it? It has lovely grounds." "Yes, that's The Warren sure enough. Whose place is it? Why, it belongs to General Talland. He's the landlord of most of Chagmouth." "I thought some people named Williams lived there?" "So they do, but they don't own the village, however much they may think it. They only _rent_ the house--it's not theirs. We Chagmouth folks don't want one of your fine society squires thrust down our throats. We'll manage our own affairs." Bevis spoke bitterly, with a look towards the house on the wooded hill that sent no goodwill towards its occupants. Merle, burning to relate her experiences at The Warren, was about to ask more, but Bevis turned abruptly away. He was friendly, but so plainly reserved that nobody with an ounce of tact would have tried to force his confidence. Even Merle, not usually over-discreet, had the sense to keep back the dozen questions that rose to her lips. Their companion was bending among the grass and brambles picking snowdrops. He gathered the finest ones, with the longest stalks, arranged them into two exactly equal bunches, then offered them shyly to the girls. "We call them 'Fair Maids of February' about here," he said. "It's the first of February to-day, and you're the 'fair maids', so you ought to have some of your own flowers if you care to take them." "Oh, thanks!" (Mavis and Merle were flattered by the compliment). "We'll love to have them. We'll take them home in the car. What beauties they are! I never saw such big ones before. Did you plant them here?"