John and Betty's History VisitWilliamson, Margaret
History
John and Betty's History Visit
Williamson, Margaret
England -- Description and travel
[Illustration: ONE OF PLASTER AND THATCH, OVERGROWN WITH ROSES.--_Page
239._]
"And the blue, blue water at its feet!" rhymed Betty, all
unconsciously. "I just know the Mediterranean isn't any bluer!"
"Isn't it the dearest, oddest little place!" put in Mrs. Pitt, summing
up all the children's remarks in one. "I do think it's----." But here
Betty interrupted her.
"Look at that little girl!" she fairly screamed. "Don't let her run
down that steep street like that! She mustn't do it!"
Mrs. Pitt, after one look at the child, merely laughed and replied,
"Don't worry, Betty; she's used to it. She's probably done it all her
life, and she'll never fall. Now, I turn you all loose for two hours.
Explore the place to your heart's content, for it will be long before
you see such another. Come to the New Inn (that's it, where the sign
is!) at one-thirty for luncheon."
Enthusiastically the four started off. At first they all picked their
way carefully and slowly down over the smooth, slippery stones, but
gradually they became more expert in keeping their balance, and could
go faster. The two boys made straight for the foot of the town to see
the harbor and fishing-boats; Barbara and Betty were bent on
investigating all the nooks, corners, and tiny shops of the little
place; and Mrs. Pitt contentedly settled herself on the miniature
piazza of the New Inn, and looked with never-failing interest and
delight at the scene before her.
To explain more in detail, Clovelly is built in what was once a
torrent-bed, and the village tumbles down from the top of the cliff to
the very edge of Hartland Bay. The droll, Italian-like cottages cling
to the hillside, or seem to grow directly out of the gray rock. At
first, the street descends rather gradually and straight, but after a
short distance, it zigzags first to left and then to right, twists and
turns, takes one under parts of houses, into private yards, out to
look-off points, and then pitches very, very abruptly down to the Red
Lion Inn, which guards the little harbor with its long, curving
sea-wall and tiny lighthouse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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