"Zackly. I can keep a still tongue with any man; and now seems to I we’d best go home-along." He dipped the oars, and pulled, not towards the Beal, beyond which lay the village, but towards the head of Trevanion Bay. It was now high-water. Below the cliff only a narrow stretch of white sand was visible. Within ten yards of this beach Sam shipped oars, and the boat was carried along until its nose stuck in the sand. Both the boys then sprang out, and dragged their craft up to the base of the cliff beyond high-water mark. "’Tis lucky tide be high," said Sam, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "for ’tis a hot night, and old boat be desp’rate heavy." "True, she’s both heavy and old," said Dick, as he secured her to a post driven deep into the sand. "She’s a good deal older than you or I, Sam." "Ay, true, and Feyther have give her more knocks than he’ve give me. You can see his marks on her, but you can’t see ’em on me—hee! hee!" Dick laughed. Many a time had the planks been repaired by old Reuben Pollex, the signs of whose rough and ready handiwork were easily discoverable. Carrying his tackle, Dick ordered Sam to bring the bass, and led the way along a steep path that zigzagged up the face of the cliff, being soon hidden from the sea by knobs and corners of rock. It was a toilsome climb; the cliff was two hundred feet high, but the windings made the path three times as long. When they reached the top, Sam found it necessary once more to wipe his brow; then followed his young master across a stretch of coarse bent towards a large building, mistily lit by the moonbeams, about a hundred yards distant.