The cottage was very small; yet, small as it was it was grim to a degree. The flint in rows, tier upon tier, grinned at him fiercely, reminding him of a dog showing its teeth. The colour of steel, the rows of set teeth, the shaggy roof of thatch, the flag ruffling it from the chimney, all bespoke the same sturdy fighting character. Indeed it was so small, and yet so truculent, that Kit laughed to see it. Chained there a dumb watch-dog on the threshold of its country, it seemed to be saying as it crouched-- "You can all go to sleep: I'm watching." Kit crossed the wall, and almost expected to hear the cottage growl. Warily he approached. As he did so, the warrior aspect of the cottage grew upon him. It was less a cottage than a tiny fort. There were only three windows, one on each side the door, and a dormer. The lower windows though latticed were cross-barred; and the door of massive oak, iron-studded, was heavy enough for a castle. Through it, ajar, he caught the gleam of arms. Certainly this was no peasant's cottage. What was it then?--a signal- station?-- There was no flag-staff, no signal-tackle. Some lonely smuggler's hold?--not likely: for there was the flag. Could the flag be a decoy? There was nothing for it but to go and see. He stole forward with noisy heart. The cottage crouched; the sycamores behind it rustled; and the wind that stirred the sycamores brought to him the sound of a voice. He stopped, fingering his dirk. Friend or enemy? The voice was that of a man, deeply melodious without being exactly musical, and came from beyond the cottage somewhere by the clump of sycamores behind. It was humming a tune, and a tune the boy knew well. Holding his breath, and listening with his heart, the boy could distinguish the words-- _Jesu, Lover of my Soul_. CHAPTER XXXI THE MAN WITH THE SWORD I Those familiar words, so unexpected in that strange place, smote the boy's heart. A thousand memories surged in on him. His lips trembled. A very little, and he would have fallen on his knees. It was as though an Angel had come to him walking through the Valley of the Shadow, to tell him all was well, and to go forward. And forward he went with thankful heart. The sea of turf ran right up to the wall, and broke against it. The windows, seen close, were less windows than loop-holes, barred across. On the sill of one was a pot of musk, newly watered, and very fragrant. Within upon the wall shimmered a ship's cutlass, and a brace of pistols. The boy peered in. A kitchen-parlour, raftered and paved with stone, formed the ground- floor. At one end was a huge fire-place; in the opposite corner a bed, piled high with clothes. A ladder led to a trap-door in the low ceiling. The sun flooded into the room through the one window in the other wall. The door on that side was half open; and behind it sat a man. II He was all in black, and very neat: an Englishman, a gentleman, and a parson, Kit would have sworn.