When they had followed the footpath for some distance, and had gained the greensward on the top of the cliffs, the young man threw himself upon the grass, and invited Matt to do the same. It was very pleasant there, soothing both to the eye and to the mind. The cliff was covered--somewhat sparsely, it is true--with stunted grass, and just below on their right lay the ocean, calm as any mill-pond, but sighing softly as the water kissed the rocks and flowed back again with rhythmic throbs. On their left lay the sand-hills, glittering like dusty gold in the sun rays, while just before and below them was the village. “Do you see that house standing all by itself, close to shore?” said Matt, pointing to the cottage where she lived; “that belongs to William Jones--and look ye now, there be William Jones on the rocks!” Looking down, Brinkley beheld a figure moving along the rocks, just where the water touched the edge. “Very lazy of William Jones,” he said. “Why isn’t he at work?” “At work?” “Yes; tilling the fields or fishing. By the way, I forgot to ask you, is he a fisherman?” “No, he ain’t,” said Matt “He’s a wrecker, he is!” “A what?” exclaimed Brinkley. “A wrecker,” continued Matt, as if wrecking was the most natural occupation in the world. Brinkley looked, at her, imagining that she must be practising some wild joke. He had certainly heard of wreckers, but he had always believed that they were a species of humanity which had belonged to past centuries, and were now as extinct as a mammoth. But the girl evidently meant what she said, and thought there was nothing extraordinary in the statement. “That sea don’t look ugly, do it?” she continued, pointing at the ocean, “but it is--there’s rocks out there where the ships split on, then they go all to pieces, and the things come ashore.” “And what becomes of all the things, Matt?” “Some of ’em’s stole and some of ’em’s took by the coastguards. They do say,” she added, mysteriously, “as there’s lots o’ things--gold and silver--hid among them sand-hills. Before the coastguards come all the folk was wreckers like William Jones, and they used to get what come ashore, and they used to hide it in the sand-hills.” “Indeed! Then if that is the case, why don’t they take the treasure up, and turn it into money?” “Why? ’Cause they can’t; them sandhills is allus changing and shifting about, they are; though they know well enough the things is there, there’s no findin’ of ’em!” “I always thought William Jones was poor?” “So he is, he says!” replied Matt, “’cause though he be allus foraging, he don’t find much now on account o’ them coastguard chaps.” After they had rested themselves, they went a little further up the cliff, then they followed a narrow winding path, which brought them to the shore below. Here Matt, who seemed to be pretty well grounded in the history of the place, pointed him out the wonders of the coast.